


Our Hearts Are What Unmake Us

by Andelise



Category: Tales of Berseria
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Companionable Snark, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, OCs because no one else on this ship gets a dang name apparently, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, Tales of Berseria Spoilers, Tales of Zestiria Spoilers, Van Eltia crew, here have some feels, lots of pining, tagged major character death for the deaths in-game but those are the only major ones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 10:17:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14639763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andelise/pseuds/Andelise
Summary: One year after the Advent, the crew of the Van Eltia finds Eizen floating among the flotsam of a shipwreck on their way to the far continent. Aifread decides to take the stranger in, but such a journey is fraught with hazards even for those not afflicted by the Reaper's Curse, and this particular Reaper is growing far more attached to the pirates of the Van Eltia--especially their dashing captain--than he'd like.(In which Eizen finds a home aboard the Van Eltia...and with Aifread.)





	1. Chapter 1

0

            His last sight before he falls is her.

            It's enough, somehow, to strip away the malevolence in time to remember. _I know you_ —and he does; he knew her as well as he knew himself, once. When he still knew himself.

            Now that he can think, he sees that she's crying.

            _I'm sorry_ , he tries to say, but the words turn to a pained growl. He is not what he was, and never will be again. _I never meant for this to hurt you._

            His vision dims. The silhouettes around him waver, and through the haze he sees a familiar figure. A hallucination, he thinks at first, but Zaveid is not as he remembers: longer hair, older face. _So, you kept your promise._

            He does not look up to meet Edna's eyes.

            Another breath. He can tell he's running short on them. The haze is getting worse.

            The silhouettes waver again, and disappear. Replacing them is another familiar figure, one he knows cannot be real. He doesn't know what happens to a dragon after death, any more than a malak or a human, but—

            _Aifread_.

            Just as he remembers. Maroon coat flapping in the mountaintop wind, scar across one eye, crooked grin. _You always did act like you had the upper hand in any situation._

            The figure walks closer, brushing a hand down the length of his back, fingertips skimming lightly over his scales. _Don't—I'll—_

            He doesn't lash out at Aifread, as he'd lashed out at everyone since he was transformed. He holds himself still, carefully, as if without that effort the calm might shatter.

            Aifread stops as he reaches his head, turning to face him.

            _I'm sorry_ , he wants to say, but this form still won't lend itself to words.

            Aifread smiles.

            "Eizen," he says.  "It's been a long time."

 

1

            Eizen's least favorite part about this damn curse, he'd decided, was the explanations it invariably required. The risks to life and limb that came from being the Reaper were one thing—not that they were a delight either—but if he had to witness one more expression of bewilderment at the sheer fuckery of the circumstances he'd managed to land himself into, he was going to scream.

            With that in mind, he thought he'd keep his eyes closed, in the hopes that the two men who'd hauled him out of the ocean onto their ship's deck would assume he was dead and toss him back in. If he'd calculated right, he was only several days' aimless floating from Taliesin anyway. Maybe the sharks would eat him on the way.

            "I think he's dead," one of them ventured, poking Eizen's chest skeptically.

            "Nah," said the other. "He's breathing. Go get Aifread, will ya?"

            The receding footsteps on the deck boards told Eizen that there was probably little chance of him being thrown back into the ocean to get eaten by sharks in peace. He opened his eyes.

            The man leaning over him shifted back in alarm, nearly unbalancing himself enough to fall over backwards.

            _Didn't think I looked **that** bad_ , Eizen almost said, but after a moment's reflection, he figured he probably did look like hell. Even before the shipwreck, things hadn't been going according to plan.

            "Afternoon," he said instead, his voice hoarse from the saltwater he'd swallowed.

            "Uh," the other man said, glancing over his shoulder. Clearly, he'd been hoping that whomever his companion had gone to fetch would arrive before this portion of the conversation. "How are you feeling?"

            Eizen's attempt to answer ended in a coughing fit. "Never better," he said, once he'd gotten his breath back.

            "Then I'd hate to see your usual day," another voice replied.

            The man next to Eizen scrambled to his feet, his expression clearing into relief. "Captain. He's awake."

            Eizen squinted at the figure standing over him, but with the sun in his eyes, it was hard to make out more than a silhouette in a voluminous coat.

            "Can you sit up?" the silhouette said.

            Since he wasn't getting thrown back for the sharks, Eizen decided he might as well. He tried to roll to one side and prop himself up, but only succeeded in doing the former before his muscles betrayed him and he sank back onto the deck.

            "Dammit," he muttered. "Apparently not."

            The silhouette squatted down next to him, resolving into the figure of a brown-haired man in an ornate maroon coat and a hat to match, with a scar crossing over the center of one eye. At least he didn't look bewildered. His eyebrows were drawn together in concern, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes also seemed to indicate he was trying not to laugh.

            "Don't try to move too quickly," he said. "Here." He waved at one of the people clustered around them; she grabbed a coil of rope from the deck behind her and slid it behind Eizen.

            Eizen moved to sit up again, but the man in the coat—the Captain?—was faster. He slipped a hand under Eizen's head and lifted him up gently, propping him against the rope so he could sit.

            Faced with a choice between expressing gratitude and taking his disgruntled mood out on the helpful stranger, Eizen chose the latter.

            "I'm _fine_ ," he grumbled.

            "Of course you are," the man said agreeably, seemingly undisturbed. "Though I might suggest having your morning swim someplace else. These waters don't seem to agree with you."

            "Most places don't," Eizen said without thinking, and regretted it as the man tilted his head in interest. He glanced back over the deck railing. The sun was high in the sky now; he must have been floating for several hours at least. The wreckage from his former vessel was still bobbing merrily in the waves. He doubted that the people on board had been so fortunate.

            He sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes, and winced as the salt crusted to his skin stung them. He was being an ass. These people _had_ probably saved his life. It wasn't their fault that doing so had put them all in danger.

            "Thanks for fishing me out," he said. Better, but his tone was still gruff. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I appreciate the help."

            "Don't mention it," the man said. "My crew thought you were dead at first when they saw you floating face-down in the water."

            "How far are we from Taliesin?"

            "About four days' sail," the man replied, and Eizen cursed silently. The storm had blown the ship farther than he'd thought. "We're heading south to Yseult."

            "Dammit," Eizen muttered again. Yseult was no good; it would take over a month to get down there. The curse was going to do its work no matter what Eizen did, but that was no reason to make it easy. And being trapped on a ship in the open ocean for weeks on end was just asking for trouble. He'd been stupid to risk it in the first place; he'd only done shorter journeys until now.

            "Not where you were headed?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow.

            "It's not where I'm headed that's the problem," Eizen said. "Don't suppose you could turn back to Taliesin?"

            "Ah," the man said, his lips pursing to one side. "Unfortunately, we're going to be avoiding Taliesin for a little while. Until it gets a bit less...exciting."

            Eizen looked around, realizing that the men and women surrounding him were very well-armed and stood like those who knew to expect trouble, the flag flying atop the mast wasn't one he'd ever seen before, and the friendly man's coat probably cost four months' worth of work for an honest merchant. _Pirates_.

            He didn't realize he'd said it out loud until the crew, as one, put their hands to their sword hilts.

            The man held up a hand to stop them, regarding Eizen closely. "Is that a problem?"

            "No," Eizen said honestly—though if it had been, he would hardly have acknowledged it in his present circumstances.

            The man nodded, satisfied, and the others relaxed.

            "Welcome to the Van Eltia," he said. "I'm the captain, Van Aifread."

            "Eizen." He'd heard of the Van Eltia—one of the pirate ships infamous for running circles around the Abbey. Its captain was even more so. Looking at him, Eizen couldn't see much of a dreaded marauder, although his jaunty air certainly fit the description.

            "Well, Eizen, as you're stuck with us for the immediate future, welcome aboard."

            "No—you don't understand, I have to—" _Have to what? Have to get off this damned ship, is what_. "Aren't you docking anywhere between here and Yseult?"

            "No ports," Aifread said. "None of the settlements in eastern Midgand are big enough to have one, not for a ship this size."

            _Great_.

            "Don't worry," piped up one of the crew members—a blond boy who couldn't have been more than thirteen. "Plenty of ships make port in Yseult. I'm sure you'll be able to find one goin' where you want."

            "Our guest," Aifread said, giving Eizen a sharp look, "seems to have more on his mind than his return passage."

            And Aifread clearly wasn't an idiot, either. The chances of Eizen making it through this voyage without someone finding out about the curse were looking worse by the minute. They'd be better off if they _did_ throw him overboard, but somehow, he doubted Aifread would do that even if he did explain. He didn't strike Eizen as the sort of man who was used to backing down.

            He tried anyway. "Look, I do appreciate the rescue, but I can make my own way from here. If you've got a rowboat or something, I can pay—"

            Aifread's eyebrows vanished into his hat. "A rowboat? To the coast from here? You wouldn't make it two days. Storms can get pretty nasty in this area."

            "I noticed," Eizen muttered—though he was fairly certain that the storm that had struck his previous ship had little to do with normal weather patterns.

            "Passage to Yseult," Aifread said firmly. "No questions asked. Though any assistance you could offer on the voyage would be welcome."

            "If I travel with you, you'll all be in danger!" Eizen knew it was useless, but he at least had to warn the man.

            Aifread laughed.  "Danger?" He waved a hand, indicating the expansive ship, its rigging, and the open ocean beyond. "We're pirates! Danger comes with the territory."

            _Not this kind._ Eizen sighed. Short of jumping overboard, he didn't have any other options—and he suspected that if he did, they'd just pull him out again. He'd have to stay on until Yseult and hope the curse didn't cause irreparable damage before then. If they made it that far, he could try his luck in Southgand for awhile.

            Try his luck. He almost laughed. Luck never worked out in his favor.


	2. Chapter 2

"So," Aifread said, as Eizen followed him down the narrow wooden stairs leading to the ship's interior. "Not much of a sailor?"

            Eizen ducked his head to avoid hitting it on the low doorway as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "What gave it away?"

            "Your legs are wobbly," Aifread said, glancing back with a grin. "Though you're doing better than most, I'll give you that."

            The narrow hallway provided barely enough room for two people to walk side by side, so Eizen kept a few steps behind Aifread as he led him further in. Flickering lamps, set in carved sconces, illuminated the wood-paneled walls.

            "I've only been on short sea journeys until now," Eizen said. "And not often."

            "You got a hell of an introduction, then." Aifread pushed open the door at the end of the hallway. "Afraid we don't have much to offer in terms of accommodations, so you'll have to bunk with the crew."

            Eizen regarded the room in front of him, which appeared to take up the length of the entire ship. Though it was fairly large, it was definitely crowded. Hammocks dangled from the walls, held up by hooks; he guessed that the corresponding hooks on wooden pillars lining the middle of the boat would hold the hammocks up at night. Several hammocks were strung up in one corner, occupied by several sleeping figures. A few small trunks surrounded by chairs were clustered at the end of the room, a deck of cards lying abandoned on top of one of them.

            The Van Eltia was bigger than the ship he'd been on, but it clearly wasn't built as a passenger vessel. He had no idea how he'd manage to sleep around all these people.     

            Aifread seemed to note his hesitance. "Unless you'd rather sleep under my bed," he added with a chuckle. He made no effort to speak quietly; presumably, the people in the hammocks were used to sleeping through anything.

            "Would I have to share it with rats?" Eizen winced. That had sounded ruder than he'd intended.

            Aifread laughed. "No rats. But I've been told I snore, so you may want to take that into consideration."

            "I'll manage. Thanks."

            "With my snoring, or with the crew's quarters?"

            The quip, casual as it was, surprised a chuckle out of Eizen. It felt like ages since he'd laughed.

            "Ah," Aifread said. "You _do_ smile."

            "When I have cause."

            "And under duress, says your tone. Admittedly, taking a swim like yours wouldn't be wonderful for my mood, either. Sit."

            Taken aback by his abrupt change in tone from bantering to serious, Eizen sat down on one of the trunks before stopping to ask why.

            "Benwick!" Aifread called, his voice resounding through the room. "Get some water and bandages, would you?"

            _Water and..._ Eizen glanced down and realized that his left shirtsleeve was stained with blood. He rolled it up to discover a shallow gash across his forearm. He hadn't even felt the injury.

            "I'm fine," he said. "I don't think it's deep."

            "Deep or not, best to get it cleaned. You don't want that infected."

            Footsteps clattering down the stairs heralded the arrival of the blond boy, who almost skidded into Aifread in his hurry.

            "Here y' are, Captain!" he said. "Everything okay?"

            "If you'd see to our guest," Aifread said, gesturing to Eizen's arm. "Nothing serious."

            "Sure." The boy scrambled over to Eizen, sloshing some of the water out of the bowl he was carrying in the process. "I'm Benwick. Nice to meet you!"

            "Uh...nice to meet you, too." Eizen moved to take the bowl and bandages from Benwick, but he held them out of the way. "I can do that, if you—"

            "Nah, don't worry about it." Benwick grinned, showing a gap in his front teeth. "The captain says I'm pretty good at patching people up."

            Deciding to pick his battles, Eizen gave up and let the boy tend to his arm.

            "The space under my bed," Aifread said, as Benwick wrapped up the last of the bandages, "is still on offer. In case you were still considering it."

            In spite of himself, Eizen felt a grin tugging at his lips. The man's verve was contagious. "As much fun as that sounds," he said, "I think I'll be good with the crew's quarters."

            "Crew's quarters it is. Speaking of..." Aifread strode toward the other end of the room, motioning for Eizen to follow. "Benwick, gather the crew; I think some formal introductions are in order."

            "Aye aye, captain!" Benwick said, and scurried back up the stairs.

            "My quarters are above us," Aifread said, flipping up a trapdoor in the floor. "First mate's quarters in the room beneath them.. Down here..." He jumped down the stairs beneath the door rather than walking, skipping nearly half the steps on the way. His coat, flaring out behind him, brushed past Eizen's chest to nearly hit him in the nose.

            Eizen followed, taking the more sedate way down.

            "Down here," Aifread went on, "are the stores and the galley." He swept a hand out, indicating the chambers before them. The bottom of the ship was much more open than the floor above, divided off only by several thin walls bisecting its width. The first several rooms contained dozens of barrels, sacks, and wooden chests stacked against the walls. Eizen wondered if those contained their plunder, but thought it was probably better not to ask.

            He did, however, note one closed door, leading to a room set at the corner of one of the others towards the middle of the ship. "What's that lead to?"

            "Oh, that." Aifread chuckled. "Don't go in there—" Eizen expected he'd stop there, but he went on, "—if there's a red cord tied to the door latch."

            "Do I want to ask?"

            "It's just storage," Aifread said. "But sometimes the crew will use it for other purposes. Some of our journeys are long, with months between ports, and as you saw, the crew quarters don't offer much privacy."

            "Priva—oh."

            "After an awkward incident or two, that's the code they came up with." Aifread shrugged. "You get used to being in close quarters on a ship like this."

            Eizen couldn't imagine being jammed together with that many people for extended periods of time, but he supposed he'd have to get used to it. Assuming nothing went wrong— _ha_ —he was in for a long journey himself.

            "And finally, the galley," Aifread said, as they reached the last room. This one contained several crates and sacks, like the others, but was mostly taken up by a metal stove swaying slightly in the center of the room, suspended from the ceiling beams by thick chains. "Ruled over with an iron fist by Myrvis here."

            The galley's occupant acknowledged their presence with a grunt, but remained focused on his task of stirring the enormous pot bubbling on the stove. It smelled surprisingly good for something made onboard a ship, the scent of beef and rosemary wafting from the steam.

            "Er...hello," Eizen said, feeling like he should say _something_.

            The man nodded in response. He was tall enough that he had to hunch slightly to fit inside the room, and his broad shoulders fit a brawler more than a cook.

            "Myrvis doesn't talk much," Aifread said. "But he did tell me he was the best cook in Midgand when I took him on, so this is where he stays most of the time." He took hold of Eizen's shoulders and spun him around before Eizen could protest, trading their places, then strode out the door. The man seemed to do everything in bursts.

            Eizen nodded to Myrvis, as it seemed to be his preferred mode of communication, and headed after Aifread.

            "We'd take it as a kindness if you wouldn't mind helping out a bit," Aifread said, as he led Eizen back up the stairs to the deck. "Nothing too onerous. Cleaning, lookout shifts, that sort of thing. Myrvis guards the cooking duties jealously, so you won't have to worry about that."

            "That's fine," Eizen said. "Though I warn you, I'm not much of a sailor."

            "You'll learn. Everyone does."

            The crew on deck seemed to have mostly gone back to their respective duties, although Eizen could see several eyeing him curiously as they passed by. Aifread stopped in the center of the deck, next to the largest mast.

            "Right, listen up!" He wasn't yelling, but his voice was pitched to carry across the entire ship. The crew members all paused whatever they were doing and turned their attention to him.

            _Must come in handy during a battle_ , Eizen thought.

            "This gentleman whom most of you saw us fish out of the water has decided his stint as a mermaid simply wasn't for him, and has agreed to join us aboard until we reach Yseult."

            Several staggered calls of "Welcome to the Van Eltia!" came from the gathered crew.

            "His name is Eizen. Be friendly; he's assured me he doesn't bite."

            "I did not," Eizen said. He wasn't particularly intending to be overheard, but several of the pirates laughed. Aifread glanced back at him, the twitch to his lips making it evident he was holding back a laugh himself.

            "He can bite _me_ if he wants," a woman's voice came from the back of the crowd.

            "Down, Karina," Aifread said good-humoredly. "Let the man get his sea legs before you start any propositions. That goes for you too, Taroch."

            "Are you suggesting I'm not patient?" asked one of the men, raising an eyebrow. He had the most startlingly red hair Eizen had ever seen.

            "That's exactly what I'm suggesting," Aifread said, "and it's no sense pretending to be surprised after our last trip to Hellawes."

            Judging by the pirates' laughter, Eizen assumed Aifread was referring to a well-known anecdote.

"Given our guest's state when we found him, I'm assuming he has nothing more than the clothes on his back, so..." He glanced around. "Aolas, I think you're probably the closest in size, if you wouldn't mind lending him a few things."

            "Aye aye, Captain," responded a tall, dark-haired man with a crooked nose.

            "Myrvis and Benwick you've met," Aifread went on. "Caiphas is our first mate." He indicated a blond man with a scar across one cheek. "Karina there is the navigator; Aolas is the quartermaster. Mori—" he nodded to a stocky woman with white-streaked hair—"is our boatswain and carpenter. Taroch there is the master gunner. I'm sure the rest will introduce themselves in time, but for now..." He turned his attention back to the crew. "I believe you all have work to do!"

            The pirates dispersed, most of them offering Eizen a friendly clap on the shoulder as they passed him. The man called Aolas stopped in front of him.

            "My things are below, if you want to take a look," he said. "You're a bit skinnier than I am, but they'll probably be close enough."

            "That's all right, I—" Eizen, belatedly, realized that his clothes were still salt-encrusted and he probably smelled like fish and seawater. "Er, thanks."

            "Follow me," Aolas said. "We'll get you settled in."

*

            _Settled in_ , though he appreciated the crew's generosity, wasn't exactly the terms Eizen would use. Aolas's clothes were indeed slightly big, but they fit well. The hammock he'd been given wasn't uncomfortable, and under other circumstances the gentle swaying of the ship might have lulled him to sleep soon enough. But...

            There were too many damned _people_ in this ship. The ones who weren't snoring were shifting around or mumbling in their sleep. It was enough to make him wish he'd taken Aifread's offer of sleeping under his bed after all—though he doubted the man had been serious about that. Any one of these noises on their own wouldn't have kept him awake, but combined, they provided a near-constant buzz of noise that made it impossible to drift off.

            He sighed, giving up, and rolled out of the hammock. Trying to move as quietly as possible, he made his way around the rows of hammocks, through the hallway, and up the stairs to the deck.

            A few of the pirates were seated in front of the raised platform above the stairs—the forecastle, Aolas had called it—smearing a sticky substance onto coils of rope. They nodded to Eizen as he passed, but didn't otherwise comment; he supposed Aifread must have let the night shift know about him. They seemed to be the only ones on deck other than the brown-haired woman at the helm, the one who'd been introduced as Karina.

            Now that he was on deck, Eizen wasn't sure where he was actually going. He'd just wanted to escape the stuffiness of the hold, and had been hoping the deck would be unoccupied so he could get some peace. _Should have expected that everyone wouldn't sleep at the same time._

            Looking around, he spotted the crow's nest at the top of the center mast. It was difficult to tell from down here, but it appeared to be unoccupied. _Perfect_.

            The pirates on deck eyed him curiously as he scrambled up the rigging, but they didn't say anything to stop him. Eizen climbed up easily enough—the ropes had more handholds than the average mountainside—and settled atop the small round platform. A small railing encircled the side, but it was otherwise open to the sky.

            The night was calm, the ocean waters still and undisturbed. Above him, Eizen could see the stars, far more than were visible in any city. It reminded him of the mountain he'd called home for so many years, which in turn reminded him of Edna. It had been awhile since he'd sent her a letter. He'd have to send one when they reached Yseult— _if_ they reached Yseult. He reached down to his pocket, closing his figures around the small ceramic dog figurine within to reassure himself that it was still there.

            At least he hadn't lost _that_ in the shipwreck. That was all he needed, to lose his vessel in the middle of all this. He doubted he'd find anything else with enough emotional resonance to serve as one, not out here. Fortunately, most of the pirates didn't seem like they'd be that susceptible to malevolence, but it was better to be on the safe side.

            Eizen leaned against the mast, enjoying the view of the stars reflected in the sea. Below him on deck, he saw Aifread, distinguishable even from this height by his coat, approach the helm. He seemed to exchange a few words with Karina before she headed for the stairs and he took the helm himself.

            _He's been up all day and now he's taking the night shift as well?_ Eizen wondered. _Figured a captain would get the more preferable hours_.

            He scanned the horizon, keeping an eye out for other ships, storms, or anything else that might mean his curse was rearing its head again, but the night remained still. On the breeze, he could just barely hear a song, so faint that he thought he was imagining it at first.

            " _Oh, the rain, it rains all day long_..."

            He glanced down at the pirates, who didn't seem to be singing or paying the song any attention. _Was_ he imagining things?  No—now that he was concentrating, he could make out more than the brief wisps he'd been getting—a tune sung in a rich baritone.

            " _Bold Riley-o has gone away..._ "

            There it was, from the helm. The figure standing at the wheel, coat flapping behind him in the wind, hat still perched atop his head.

            " _Goodbye, my sweetheart, goodbye my dear-o, Bold Riley-o, Bold Riley..._ "

            Eizen had to hand it to him; Aifread had a hell of a voice. He was better than most people Eizen had seen on an actual stage.

            " _Goodbye, my darlin', goodbye my dear-o, Bold Riley-o has gone away..._ "

            Maybe it was just the melancholy nature of the song, but Eizen couldn't help feeling like Aifread cut a lonely figure, silhouetted in the moonlight. He glanced back at the crew on deck, but they didn't seem to have stopped their work. Maybe they were used to this particular habit of their captain's.

            " _Oh, our anchor is weighed and the rags were all set, Bold Riley-o, Bold Riley..._ "

            Eizen settled back against the mast, closing his eyes. He knew he should rest while he could, and it was more peaceful up here than anywhere else he'd been in the past few weeks.

            " _And those Hellawes girls we'll never forget, Bold Riley-o has gone away...goodbye my sweetheart, goodbye my dear-o, Bold Riley-o, Bold Riley...goodbye my darlin', goodbye my dear-o...Bold Riley has gone away..._ "

            As he drifted off, too drowsy to question whether it was any of his business, Eizen found himself wondering if it was only the lyrics that lent the song its wistful air, or if Aifread was thinking of someone in particular as he sang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aifread's tune is an old folk song, slightly altered to fit Berseria's world.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D62vASKOOhQ


	3. Chapter 3

            The first thing Eizen heard before he opened his eyes were the seagulls.

            They were screaming much louder than usual, and for a second he thought one might have gotten through the window to his cabin—no, he wasn't on that ship anymore; he was—

            His eyes flew open. He had fallen sideways during the night, so that he was now curled around the mast, his cheek pressed into the wood platform of the crow's nest. Not two inches from his nose, three seagulls were perched on the edge of the platform, and Eizen's half-awake brain finally sped through the events of the previous day. _Shipwreck...rescue...Van Eltia...trapped on a ship heading to Yseult with no stops between here and there—_

            "Shit," he said to the seagulls, who shrieked unsympathetically.

            He sat up, trying to rub the wood-grain lines out of his cheek, and looked around. Below him, the Van Eltia's crew scurried about, tossing ropes around, adjusting the sails, and doing...whatever needed doing on a ship. Eizen wasn't entirely sure; he'd never actually participated in sailing one before.

            The seagull on the right, a particularly fat one with a gray stripe on its head, hopped forward and nudged Eizen's hand with its beak.

            "Go away," he said, flapping his hand.

            _Scree_ , said the seagull, in an accusatory fashion.

            "I don't have any food. Go away."

            It flew off, casting a baleful look back at him, and its companions followed.

            _Great_ , he thought. _Now I'm talking to birds._

Eizen climbed down the rigging, wincing as the ropes scraped against his hands. Fistfights had toughened the wrong side of his hands for this, and he'd have to build up some thicker skin on his palms if he was going to be of any use around here. He dropped to the deck next to Aolas, who was pulling at one of the ropes affixed to the mast.

Aolas jumped. "Oh!  Sorry, didn't see you go up there."

"Awhile ago," Eizen said, choosing not to elaborate. He didn't want to sound like he was complaining about the accommodations. "Uh..." He looked around the bustling deck. "Anything you all want me to do?"

"Hmm...ask Caiphas," Aolas said, tightening his grasp on the rope as the wind picked up. "He'll probably have something."

Eizen glanced around for the first mate, finally spotting him standing on the forecastle at the bow of the ship, surveying the waves. He nodded to Aolas and headed in that direction, narrowly avoiding running into Benwick careening his way down the steps to the platform. The boy didn't seem to do anything slowly.

"Sorry!" Benwick called over his shoulder as he scurried off.

"Don't worry about it," Eizen said, but Benwick was already on the other side of the ship. _Kids_.

He continued up the steps. Caiphas was standing at the rail, peering out at the ocean through a telescope. Although the ship was pitching a bit underneath them, his boots were as steady on the deck as if he'd been standing in a peaceful meadow. Eizen's stride was a bit shakier, but at least he didn't fall over.

            "Morning," Eizen said.

            "Going to be trouble," Caiphas replied, still surveying the waters.

Quite probably, given that _he_ was now involved with the ship, but he couldn't see how Caiphas would know that.

"Sorry?" Eizen said, not certain whether he was apologizing or asking for clarification. Trouble was what he tended to bring, and he had no wish to bring it down on these people.

"Smoke on the wind," Caiphas said. "Abbey ship ahead. We'll reach them in a few days, if not sooner." He lowered the telescope to his side, one brawny hand tightening around the brass cylinder. A looping blue tattoo encircled his wrist; Eizen couldn't tell if it was meant to be waves or elaborate calligraphic words.

"Do you want to reach them?"

Caiphas turned to face him for the first time, regarding him with what seemed to be contemplation. His eyes, a piercing shade of green, stood out in the man's weather-beaten face, but Eizen felt more off-balance from the intensity of the gaze. It felt as if Caiphas was reading his very thoughts.

"We do," Caiphas said, slowly, as though he were choosing his words carefully. "You may not."

"Why not?"

Caiphas's face cracked into a smile, the expression spreading as hesitantly as his words. Still, behind it seemed to be genuine enjoyment—mischief, almost.

"Think about it, lad. What do pirates do?"

_Rescue castaways and take stupid risks, apparently_. "Ah...pirate?"

"When we hit those ships," Caiphas said, "every time we hit those ships, all of us are risking the harsh backhand of the law. At best, a few years in Titania if we're caught. At worst...the Abbey's been known to execute pirates, and we're notorious ones. And that's assuming we survive the fight, because I assure you, none of the people on this ship are going down without one hell of a fight."

"So why do it?"

Caiphas tucked the telescope into his belt, carefully fastening it into place. "Freedom. Adventure. Nowhere else to go. Because there aren't many places free from Abbey control, these days, and those that are tend to end up full of daemons."

There was an undercurrent of bitterness to his voice that Eizen couldn't help but recognize. It was similar to his own tone whenever he referred to the Abbey, with a hint of tension that dissuaded any further questions.

Eizen tried anyway. "Not fond of the Abbey?"

            "Ask the captain."

            "Captain Aifread speaks for all of you, does he?"

            Caiphas chuckled, and the cloud that had darkened his expression cleared. Eizen felt he'd missed something, or missed the opportunity for something, and he wasn't sure what it was.

"Most days," Caiphas said, turning back to the rail. "Did you need something?"

"I, ah..." Eizen shook his head, trying to clear it of its newfound misgivings. "I was wondering if you had anything you wanted me to do. At the moment."

            Caiphas pointed to the other side of the deck, which Benwick was busily scrubbing. "If you're a decent hand with a scrub brush, go give Benwick there a hand."

            "Sure," Eizen said.

            "Aye," Caiphas corrected. "You're on a ship now, lad. Might as well act like it."

            "Right. Uh...aye."

            "There you go." Caiphas leaned on the rail, returning to surveying the ocean. "We'll make a sailor of you yet. If you're lucky, you might even be glad of it."

            "I'm never lucky," Eizen said, before stopping to think.

            "Then you're probably in for a rough journey."

            _You don't know the half of it._ "Thanks for the tip."

            Caiphas offered an ironic salute and waved him off.

*

            The stranger, Aifread had to admit, complicated things.

            It wasn't as if he doubted his crew's ability to keep quiet about their eventual destination, nor was he concerned about the man being some sort of spy. Setting up a lone shipwrecked man as an agent provocateur left far too many things to chance for the Abbey's usual style. Too damned "irrational."

            What did concern him was whatever Eizen was bringing along in his wake. His wary demeanor, his reticence, asking them to send him off in a rowboat back toward Taliesin—Aifread knew the look of someone in a shitload of trouble trying to avoid bringing it down on others.

            He swirled the brandy in the glass he was holding, eyeing the amber liquid as it sloshed against the sides, then set it down on his desk without taking a sip. He slid the captain's log to the other side of the desk, just in case, and propped his chin up on his hands, staring out the small round porthole window in front of him. The ocean was relatively calm again today, but with a decent wind for sailing—not too choppy. Aifread noted the direction—south—by habit.

            Maybe he was making too much of this. A shipwreck was bound to put anyone's disposition out of joint...but Eizen hadn't commented on any valuables he'd lost from his luggage, didn't seem to have been traveling with anyone, didn't seem to have a destination besides _away_. In Aifread's experience, that usually added up to one thing: trouble.

            He sighed, taking off his hat to toss it across the room onto his bed. Damn it, it wasn't as though they didn't know how to handle trouble. If Eizen _was_ embroiled in something unpleasant, Aifread wished he'd just tell him what it was. Sailing blind into the unknown was one thing—and something he was currently eagerly anticipating. Sailing blind into something he could probably do something about if he knew it was brewing was another.

            He told himself he was being uncharitable. Eizen hadn't even been on the ship two days, and from his perspective, he'd been picked up by the most notorious gang of pirates in the Empire's waters. It wasn't surprising that he didn't instantly trust them. Aifread couldn't really fault him for that, even if it _was_ inconveniencing him. Better to try to carefully feel the man out than force the issue.

            The ship pitched slightly in a sudden wind, tilting the floor of Aifread's cabin with it. His glass, being weighted at the bottom, didn't tip, but the brandy within had no such compunctions. It sloshed over the side, splashing a sip's worth onto the desk. Aifread grumbled a curse under his breath and dug out his handkerchief to soak it up.

            Caiphas, when they'd discussed it, had been hesitant, but he knew Eizen didn't exactly have anywhere else to go at the moment. Aolas liked him, but Aolas liked most people as a general rule. And Karina was all for letting him stay as long as he liked. Knowing her, she was probably _hoping_ Eizen would get them into some sort of trouble. Karina's attention darted like minnows in shallow water, and if not enough suitably entertaining things were happening, she created them herself. The others—well, they had the same misgivings Aifread had, and the same reasoning for his eventual conclusion.

            Through the door, he heard the sound of Taroch's tenor, starting up a shanty. The words grew more distinct as the rest of the crew joined in, individual voices melding into what Aifread always thought of as the voice of the Van Eltia.

" _Oh, we'd be all right if the wind was in our sails, we'd be all right if the wind was in our sails_ —"

*

" _We'd be all right if the wind was in our sails, and we'll all hang on behind..._ "

Eizen glanced up from the section of deck he was scrubbing as the crew started to sing, all chiming in shortly after Taroch began the first line. A song they were all familiar with, clearly—apparently it wasn't only Aifread who had that particular habit. He couldn't recall hearing any songs on the ships he'd been on before. Maybe it was a pirate thing.

" _And we'll roll the old chariot along, we'll roll the old chariot along_..." Benwick, scrubbing next to him, joined in, his high voice blending with the others. The kid was a little off-key, but he definitely had enthusiasm.

The wind picked up again, sending a welcome breeze across the deck.  Eizen swiped at his forehead, trying to keep the sweat out of his eyes. There wasn't much relief from the sun out here, and his hands were starting to crack in the places where they'd been in contact with the harsh soap and scrub brush. If it was this hot on the open water already, what was Yseult going to be like? He'd wandered a fair amount, but never as far as the southern continent.

Not only was he slowly roasting alive, but his arms ached from the scrubbing. He wasn't about to admit that he couldn't manage what seemed to be a simple task for Benwick, who'd already progressed to the other side of the deck, so he kept at it as the strains of the shanty washed over the ship.

" _Well, a night on the town wouldn't do us any harm, a night on the town wouldn't do us any harm_..."

Damn it, it wasn't as if he wasn't used to hard work; there was no reason _washing something_ should be this strenuous. He'd walked from one end of Eastgand to the other, been beaten bloody in more fistfights than he could count, and had so far survived everything the Reaper's Curse had thrown at him, and he was not going to be defeated by a damned _scrub brush_.

Eizen didn't realize he'd muttered the last part out loud until he heard chuckling from behind him. He turned to look up, squinting against the sun, and saw a silhouette that was quickly growing familiar.

            "It'll go easier," Aifread said, "if you don't launch yourself into it like you're going for the throat of your worst enemy."

            Eizen sent up a silent general curse to any of the empyreans that happened to be listening. _Great, now the Van Eltia's captain thinks I'm a fuck-up_. _Fantastic._

            Aifread squatted down next to him, examining the portion of deck he'd been scrubbing. "Though I admire your energy."

            Eizen bristled, sensing an undercurrent of mirth in the words. "Are you mocking me?"

            "Mocking, no." A corner of Aifread's mouth quirked up into a barely suppressed grin. "Teasing. Gently. Also trying to be helpful. I can multitask."

            "Can you." Eizen cast him a skeptical look, but he couldn't detect any genuine malice in Aifread's tone.

            "Quite well, so I'm told." Aifread stood up, offering him a hand. "But perhaps it's time for a break."

            " _And we'll roll the old chariot along, and we'll all hang on behind_!" The crew's shanty reached a crescendo, followed by a cheer and scattered applause. Taroch, standing up on the forecastle, swept a bow. They seemed to have finished with their adjustments to the rigging, coinciding almost exactly with the end of the song. With the sails spread, the wind carried the ship along at a fairly good clip.

            "I can keep going," Eizen said. "I'm not done with the section yet."

            "Benwick can handle the rest. I've got something else in mind for you."

            Eizen didn't take the offered hand, but he did stand up, wiping his sleeve across his forehead. "All right—uh, aye."

            Aifread chuckled. "Crew getting you whipped into shape already, I see. Come." He waved a hand, motioning for Eizen to follow, and headed up the steps to the forecastle. "Okay, you lot!" he called, pitching his voice to carry across the ship. "Time to see what our new friend has to offer!"

            "Already?" Taroch asked, stepping aside to clear the center of the deck. "He's only been on the Van Eltia a day."

            "And we'll have an Abbey ship soon on the horizon. If things turn ugly, I'd like to know his capabilities." Aifread rocked back on his heels, stretching from side to side. "How are you in  a fight, Eizen?"

            "Decent." Eizen flexed a hand experimentally. The cracked skin was uncomfortable, but he'd still be able to form a fist just fine.

            "Benwick, fetch our friend a sword," Aifread said.

            "No!" Eizen said, and winced as Aifread raised an eyebrow at him. Too quick, too vehement. "I, ah, I'm more used to fighting barehanded."

            "You're not going to win a fistfight with a sword," Aifread said.

            "I have before."

            "Really?" Aifread's other eyebrow arched up to join the first. "Well, this I have to see. But I'm not going to go easy on you just because you're accepting a disadvantage."

            "Likewise," Eizen said, eliciting a laugh from the crew.

            "He sounds pretty confident, Captain," Karina said, hopping up to sit on the rail. "This should be a good show."

            With a flourish, Aifread slipped out of his coat and tossed it to the side. He drew his sword from the sheath at his belt and paced a few times back and forth, keeping his eyes fixed on Eizen.

            The crew formed a circle of spectators around them, making an impromptu ring. As one, they began stamping their boots against the deck, the sound reverberating through the ship in a steady rhythm.

            "Get 'im, landlubber!" a voice called from the back of the crowd, followed by laughter.

            Eizen took a deep breath, inhaling the sharp tang of the salt air. He wasn't in top form, not after scrubbing the deck all morning, but he still had enough energy to make a good showing. He settled into his usual fighting stance, knees slightly bent and fists curled. The sword gave Aifread more reach...so he was just going to have to be quicker. Using his malak artes would raise too many questions; besides, he didn't want to actually hurt the man.

            Aifread circled, posture taut. His carefree air had vanished; in its place was the intensity of a wild animal waiting to strike. Only the gleam of mischief in his eyes gave the impression that this was only a practice fight.

            Eizen kept pace with him, meeting his gaze. Most people gave their moves away from the direction they glanced. Better to hold back and let Aifread make the first—

            Aifread darted in, sword flashing, almost before Eizen had registered the movement. He skipped backward just in time, Aifread's sword barely grazing his shirt rather than tearing it. _Damn, he's fast_. And nothing in his expression had given that attack away.

            "Not bad," Aifread said, a grin spreading across his face. "You know how to dodge, at least."

            "I know how to do more than that." Eizen shook his hair out of his eyes, taking a few steps to the right so he wasn't staring into the sun. _Watch his feet, then—he'll have to shift his weight when he moves_ — _there!_

            As Aifread shifted forward, Eizen dodged the next strike and swung a fist. Aifread spun, and the blow, meant to connect with his ribs, struck his arm instead.

            Eizen barely heard the cheer from the crew. His awareness had narrowed to the deck under his feet and Aifread in front of him, rapier positioned defensively, every muscle coiled tight. He could feel sweat soaking through his shirt; the heat wasn't doing him any favors.

            Aifread shifted his weight backward again, abandoning his defensive stance. "Come on, then," he said, the sudden low timbre of his voice making the words almost a growl.

            The challenge sparked a thrill down Eizen's spine. He took the opening, ducking around Aifread's sword to aim a punch at his jaw, but Aifread spun again— _turning your back on an opponent, risky_ —and took another swing. The flat of his sword smacked into Eizen's side, knocking his breath out in one solid rush. _Shit_ — Eizen stumbled, the force of the blow unbalancing him.

            Aifread's eyes gleamed, expression kindling from nonchalance into delight. Eizen lashed a fist out, pulling the punch enough not to do any permanent damage as it struck just below Aifread's right eye. He dodged backward as Aifread swung again; the sword passed closely enough to feel its breeze on his cheek. He drew in a breath, getting his air back, and aimed a kick at Aifread's feet. Aifread jumped, but didn't land quickly enough to dodge Eizen's fist. Eizen connected with his stomach, driving up to knock the wind out of his lungs.

            Aifread wheezed, not staggering backward as Eizen had been hoping. Instead, he tilted forward, chest pressing into Eizen's enough to unbalance him in turn. _No—he's not off balance—he's_ —

            Eizen dropped to the deck, rolling to the side. The hilt of Aifread's sword swished through the air where his head had just been. Eizen jumped back to his feet, catching the hilt and wrenching the sword from Aifread's grasp. It clattered to the deck; Aifread nimbly stepped around it and swung a punch at Eizen.

            _Dodge_ —Eizen took another gasp of air—but he could tell Aifread was tiring too, his breathing ragged, muscles outlined through his sweat-dampened shirt. _Dodge—swing—step to the right—there_ —

            Aifread's gaze slid to the side, glancing down to the deck. _He's going for the sword_ —

            As Aifread took a step sideways, Eizen darted in. _Feint with a fist_ —Aifread took the bait, reaching up to block.  _Now!_

            With one motion, he swept a foot under Aifread's boots, knocking his feet out from under him, and snaked an arm around his back to yank him down. For a scant second, he had Aifread suspended in midair above the deck, as if dancing, before they both fell to the wooden floor.

            Aifread rolled in time to escape Eizen landing on top of him, but Eizen had been ready for the fall and recovered before he could react. He scrambled to his knees, straddling Aifread's torso. He pinned Aifread's wrist to the deck with one hand in case he got any ideas about going for his sword, and held his other arm against the man's throat.

            For a moment, they held still. Eizen could feel Aifread's heartbeat pulsing against his skin, pressed close enough to crush his windpipe if this had been a real fight, and the motion of his ragged breaths. Aifread met his eyes, challengingly. _Do it_ , the expression seemed to say in defiance. _I dare you_. The usual gleam of mischief had intensified, almost giving the impression that the hazel of his eyes had actually darkened—and Aifread _grinned_ , wild and delighted, as if this had worked out exactly as he'd wanted.

            Eizen's breath caught, the exertion of the day finally getting the better of him. He rolled off of Aifread and sprawled out next to him on the deck.

            Dimly, as if from a great distance, he heard Taroch declaring, "We have a winner!"

            He turned his head to look at Aifread, who hadn't moved. He was staring up at the sky, his only movement the rise and fall of his chest as he gasped for air.

            "You're good," Aifread said, voice hoarse.

            Eizen sat up, wincing as his ribs protested the movement. He was definitely going to have a bruise or two. "You're pretty good yourself."

            "I've never seen anyone move like that. You caught my sword in your bare hands."

            "Have to adapt when—" _when any weapon you hold has the potential to turn against you and everyone around_ — "when you fight with my style."

            "You should get some salve on those hands." Aifread sat up. A bruise was starting to bloom across his right cheekbone.

            Eizen glanced down at his hands, realizing for the first time that they'd now cracked completely open. Blood was smeared across his palms. "I'll be fine."

            "Not if those don't heal right, you won't." Aifread got to his feet, moving more stiffly than he had before. Eizen took some satisfaction that Aifread seemed as worn out as he was. "Salve. Then I think you've earned a drink. Benwick!"

            Benwick's head bobbed above the pirates crowded around. "On it, Captain!"

            Eizen stood, his legs protesting that they'd rather stay where they were. The pirates were dispersing, most pausing to give him a congratulatory slap on the back as they passed. Karina jumped down from the railing, boots landing on the deck with hardly a noise, and sauntered over.

            "I hope you're ready for the responsibility," she said, crossing her arms in front of her.

            Still slightly dazed from the fight, Eizen's first thought was that he hadn't heard her properly. "Responsibility?"

            "You beat the captain. That makes you the new captain."

            Eizen's stomach lurched.  "I— _what_?"

            Too late, he noted the smirk she was holding back. She burst out laughing, echoed by several of the others who'd been close enough to hear.

            "That's not funny," Eizen grumbled. _Captain of a ship—that'd be essentially a death sentence for anyone on board._

            "Sorry," she said, still chuckling. "Couldn't resist. You should have seen your face."

            Aifread gave her what was clearly meant to be a reproving look, but it was undermined somewhat by the quiver to his mouth indicating he was trying not to laugh. "All right, you've had your fun. Let the man have a drink in peace."

            "Doubt that very much, if you're getting involved." She snapped an ironic salute and headed off, placing one foot in front of the other as if she were walking a tightrope.

            "Karina's got a mischievous streak," Aifread said. "But she means well."

            "Got the salve, Captain!" called Benwick, swinging himself around the door from the hold and jumping up the forecastle steps before even finishing the sentence. Eizen jumped. Damn it, didn't that kid ever _walk_ anywhere?

            Aifread held out a hand, and Benwick tossed him a small jar. "Thanks. Here," he said to Eizen. "Let's get out of the sun."

            "Won't hear me arguing with that," Eizen said. The wind had died down again, and though it was still enough to carry the ship across the waves, it didn't provide much relief from the heat.

            Aifread led him down the steps and down the length of the ship, coming to a stop at the raised platform at the stern of the ship. It was cooler up here, getting more of a breeze thanks to its elevation, and shaded by the sails.

            "Have a seat," Aifread said, gesturing to a few barrels set next to the railing.

            "Thanks." Eizen sank down on one of them, trying not to collapse _too_ obviously.

            "Hands."

            "I can—" Eizen began, but Aifread's raised eyebrow forestalled him. With a sigh, he held out his hands. The cracks across the skin had worsened, and reddened patches where it had been rubbed raw splotched across his palms.

            "Rope burns," Aifread said briskly, unscrewing the jar. "And the soap, probably. You get used to it, but it'll be troublesome for a few weeks." He dipped a few fingers into the jar and smeared some of the salve across Eizen's palm.

            Eizen twitched back, hissing a breath between his teeth.

            "Sorry," Aifread said, catching his hand. "Try to hold still. It'll sting a bit."

            " _Now_ you warn me," Eizen muttered, but stayed still as Aifread carefully smoothed the cool yellow gel over his hand. It smelled of honey and something sharply herbal. Aifread's hands were roughened and callused, but he had more of a delicate touch than Eizen would have expected.

            Aifread turned one of his hands over, then the other, and nodded in satisfaction. "The backs aren't nearly as bad. Not surprising, fighting style like yours." He settled back, rubbing his hands together to soak in the remainder of the salve. "Better?"

            "Yeah," Eizen said. After the initial sting, the salve did seem to be dulling the soreness. "Thanks."

            "You should do that daily until you toughen them up a little." Aifread slid the lid off the barrel next to him and pulled out two tankards. Holding one under the spigot of another barrel, he tipped the spigot down and filled the tankard before offering it to Eizen.

            Eizen took a sip. It was cider, but with an oddly tangy edge to it.

            "Lothringen blackberry cider," Aifread said. "Closely guarded secret of the town, not made anywhere else."

            "It's good."

            Aifread poured himself a tankard and leaned back. "One of the benefits of being a...roving trader such as ourselves. Goods from all over." He stretched an arm along the rail, letting it trail over the side. The only thing Eizen could see in any direction was ocean—no coastline, no other vessels, no signs of life besides those aboard the Van Eltia. Even the seagulls seemed to have vanished into the distance.

            He thought of that storm, and his previous ship being dashed against the waves. He imagined that happening to these people, and wondered if he wished he'd drowned after all.

            "Coin for your thoughts," Aifread said, raising the tankard to him.

            _Contemplating our inevitable deaths._ Instead, he said, "Caiphas told me we're nearing an Abbey ship."

            "That's right." Aifread didn't seem surprised by the question.

            "What happens then?"

            "Specifically?" Aifread smiled, a trace of the fierce wildness Eizen had seen during the fight crossing his face. "We chase them down, shoot our cannons a few times to hobble them if necessary, board the ship, and make off with all the cargo they've got."

            "That's it?"

            "Sometimes they fight back. Merchant ships usually don't. Abbey ships usually do."

            "So you're expecting a fight."

            Aifread leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm always expecting a fight."

            "Expecting or hoping for?"

            "With the Abbey? Both."

            "You don't like them," Eizen said. An understatement, judging by the sudden tension in Aifread's posture, coiled spring-tight as if he was ready to spar again.

            Aifread's jaw tightened. He glanced away, out over the open ocean. "I do not."

            _Why not?_ Eizen almost asked, but whatever the reason, it seemed to cut close to the bone.

            "You can stay belowdecks if you like," Aifread said, turning back to him. "Once you associate with pirates, they'll tar you with that brush for life."

            _If the Abbey ever gets their hands on me, I'm as good as dead anyway_. He didn't say that either. No reason to give Aifread cause for questions. "I don't mind."

            "Then you're welcome to fight alongside us. Until we reach Yseult, anyway."

            "And then I'm no longer welcome?" Eizen asked dryly.

            Aifread regarded him for a moment, his face caught partially in shadow from the sail. That might have been what lent it the sudden gravitas, Eizen thought, or perhaps it was just the tired lines that had appeared around his mouth and eyes.

            "That," Aifread said, "is largely up to you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The crew's sea shanty:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20n3N1uhztc
> 
> (Also, I can't get the indents to work right for the life of me...sorry! :/ )


	4. Chapter 4

The sun set more vibrantly over the ocean, streaking the horizon red and gold. Without it high in the sky, the air had cooled, bringing a chill across the deck when the wind whipped up. Eizen had long since rolled his shirtsleeves back down, as the rope repairs he was working on were much less physically taxing than the morning's tasks, but he was starting to wish he had a coat like Aifread's.

            On deck, some of the crew members made adjustments to the sails while Mori looked on, arms crossed. Towards the stern, leaning against the wall leading to belowdecks, Aifread seemed to be discussing something with Taroch, though not loudly enough for Eizen to make out what they were saying from his position in the middle of the ship's deck. Aifread's posture, at least, was relaxed enough.

            "Good tailwind!" Caiphas called from his post at the ship's wheel. "We'll be upon that Abbey ship tomorrow."

            This raised a cheer from the rest of the crew. Eizen abstained, mostly to avoid drawing attention to himself, but he had to admit that the idea of an Abbey ship being raided appealed to his vindictive streak.

            _Idiot_ , he could almost hear Edna chiding him. _You're going to get yourself in trouble_.

            _You know damn well I get in trouble whether I try to or not_ , he thought to the imaginary Edna-voice. _Might as well try to make something of it_.

            Once, he might have agreed with her. Best not to borrow trouble; attracting the Abbey's notice would go worse for him—and her—than most. But that was before he'd seen what the Abbey was actually capable of, the lengths they went to in order to keep the Empire's citizens under their sway. He might have been able to dismiss that as not his problem, if it wasn't for the malaks they enslaved in the process.

            "Did that rope insult your father?" a woman's voice came from behind him.

            Eizen managed to suppress his reflexive twitch of surprise in time. He'd gotten used to moving among humans unseen, and even now, a year after they all started being able to see malaks, he still forgot sometimes that he was visible. He looked up to see Karina, raising an eyebrow at him. The dull light of the setting sun just barely illuminated her face, lending a golden cast to her brown hair.

            "Pardon?"

            "You're glowering."

            "Squinting into the sun," Eizen said, well aware he hadn't been looking anywhere near the sun. He finished braiding the last section of the rope and coiled it neatly on the deck, setting it out of the way.

            Karina's eyebrow arched higher, but she shrugged. "Worried about tomorrow?"

            "Worried isn't exactly the right word."

            "Eager, then." She grinned, the expression putting Eizen in mind of a feral wildcat. "Me too. Should be fun."

            "You have an interesting definition of fun." As he surveyed the deck, Eizen had a feeling that more of the pirates would have agreed with Karina than not. There was a definite tension in the air, but it seemed one more borne of anticipation than unease, like that of a theater troupe before a performance. Not one of them seemed concerned about the prospect of a potentially deadly fight.

            "We're pirates," Karina said, as if she'd read his thoughts. "If you quail in the face of a little danger, you don't make much of a pirate."

            Except it wasn't _a little danger_ , not with him on board. Eizen's stomach clenched. So far, he hadn't tested the Reaper's Curse in the middle of a full-scale battle, just roadside skirmishes and bar brawls. He'd had to fight off his share of daemons on his travels, but he was usually the only one at risk in that—and the curse seemed to prefer to keep him alive for awhile to toy with him, like a living spiteful thing.

            And there was no chance Aifread would call off the attack, whether Eizen provided an explanation or not. Even with his limited acquaintance with the man, Eizen could tell he'd probably dismiss the possibility at best or take it as a challenge at worst.

            "Well," he said, "I'll do what I can to help out. Even if that's just staying out of the damn way." Not that that would protect them, if the curse _was_ determined to wreak havoc.

            "Staying out of the way might be best," Karina agreed. "We've got a rhythm to these things. Although if you can kick Aifread's ass, you're clearly no slouch."

            "I think that was too close of a fight for an ass-kicking," Eizen said, which earned a chuckle from her.

            "There's the chance they'll just surrender. Give them a show—" she plucked one of the daggers from her belt and spun it around her finger— "and they usually do. The merchant clippers, anyway."

            "But this isn't a merchant. They'll be well armed."

            "According to Caiphas, she's a brigantine like the Van Eltia, not a frigate or galleon—oh." She stopped, mouth twisting inquisitively to one side. "Uh...how much do you know about ships."

            "Not enough to understand anything you just said," Eizen said dryly.

            "Sorry." She sat down on one of the barrels next to him, kicking her boots up on another. "A brigantine's a kind of two-masted ship. Bunch of technical differences, but mainly they add up to being more maneuverable and swifter in the water, which is helpful for people trying to get somewhere quick."

            "And for people in your line of work?"

            Karina laughed. "Brigantines are popular with pirates for a reason. Can't use hit-and-run tactics if you can't handle the 'run' part. Frigates are warships, three masts and more guns than your typical brigantine. Galleons are the big ones, with at least three masts, multiple decks, and a shitload of guns."

            "Oh good, my favorite measurement."

            "That's, as they say, the technical term." Her fingers drummed a quick staccato pattern at the barrel as she leaned forward, her attention seeming to shift to Aifread and Taroch at the stern.

            "Something wrong?"

            She glanced back, posture relaxing. "Nah. Just wondering if those two have the battle plan worked out yet. The sooner we can get the drop on those Abbey bastards, the better."

            Her tone was light-hearted, but the phrasing caught Eizen off guard. It wasn't the sort of sentiment most people would openly express—at least, not above a whisper.

            "Does _everyone_ on this ship hate the Abbey?" he asked.

            "Hate?" Karina shrugged. "Some do. Some are just trying to avoid them. We've all got our own reasons for being here."

            "What about you?"

            "Oh, honey." She laughed. "I'm not _nearly_ drunk enough for you to get my life story yet. Ask me after we hit that ship. Bound to be a celebration then."

            A sudden wind whipped over the deck, sending the pirates tending the sails scrambling to catch the errant ropes caught up in it. Eizen shook the resultant tangle of hair out of his face. He could see why Karina had hers bound in braids.

            _After we hit that ship_. Assuming they were all still alive then.

            "You seem pretty confident," he said.

            "Should I not be?"

            _Fuck, no. Not with me along_.

            Some of his misapprehension must have shown in his expression, because she added, "The way I see it, fretting about danger doesn't make it go away. If something happens to me, it's gonna happen regardless of whether the prospect keeps me up at night. Might as well enjoy life while I've got it."

            "Not a bad philosophy."

            "Course it isn't. I came up with it." Karina stood up, stretching her arms over her head. "Better get some shut-eye, lubber. Busy day tomorrow...and after the celebration, I'd bet more than one person on this ship would be willing to offer you a busy night." She winked.

            Eizen felt his cheeks warm. "I, uh..."

She was already gone, sauntering over to join Aifread and Taroch's discussion, which saved him from whatever awkward response he would have come up with. He wasn't sure if she'd been including herself in that number, and it felt presumptuous to ask—even though it wasn't an offer he'd be particularly interested in taking up.

The sun had nearly disappeared below the horizon, leaving only the faintest trace of pink striping the sky. Sunsets were definitely more striking out on the open ocean than on land, even as seen from his old mountaintop. The majority of the crew seemed to be heading belowdecks, with only a couple lookouts headed up the masts to take on the night shift. Eizen figured most of them were resting up for the next day.

He knew he should probably do the same, but his previous night's experience with the crew quarters combined with his growing sense of unease made him reluctant to head down. He let the others' paths swirl around him, leaving him behind in their wake.

He'd take his chances up in the crow's nest again. Hopefully the seagulls wouldn't mind sharing.

*

"Sail!"

The exclamation, taken up in quick succession by several other voices, jolted Eizen awake so abruptly that he nearly rolled off the crow's nest platform. He scrambled up, hands closing into fists, and nearly took a swing before his bleary vision cleared enough to recognize Aolas on the platform next to him.

"Easy!" Aolas exclaimed, holding up his hands.

"Sorry," Eizen said. His voice, still hoarse from sleep, came out as a growl. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Didn't mean to lash out. You scared the shit of me."

"Sorry," Aolas replied. "I didn't want to wake you. Have you been sleeping up here?"

"Uh." Eizen rubbed a hand across his eyes, squinting to adjust them to the sun. "Yeah. It's just a little...crowded down there."

Aolas shrugged. "Whatever makes you happy. Can't imagine it's comfortable, though."

"It's fine," Eizen said, scanning the horizon. He caught sight of what the cry had been for almost immediately: white sails, the Abbey's symbol emblazoned across them. "How far out are they?"

"Not far." Aolas tapped a hand to the telescope he was holding and it collapsed neatly into a metal cylinder. "About half an hour, if they don't try to run."

"Will they?"

Aolas laughed. "The Abbey? _Toward_ us, maybe. Cannons blazing the whole way."

"Oh." Eizen glanced back at the other ship, hoping the sudden sick feeling in the pit of his stomach didn't show on his face. Maybe he should dive off the ship now, before anything could happen. But that would probably just lead to them fishing him out of the water again. _Damn the surprising altruism of pirates._

"Don't worry," Aolas clapped him on the shoulder. "We can handle one Abbey supply ship." Before Eizen could respond, he grabbed a rope and swung off the platform, landing nimbly on the deck below.

Eizen climbed down the more conventional way. The deck was already swarming with motion, pirates hurrying back and forth in a flurry of activity. Some were loading the cannons, following Taroch's direction, while others were adjusting the sails, checking weaponry, or clearing the deck of errant ropes and barrels. At the bow stood Aifread, his maroon coat flaring behind him in the wind, providing a splash of color amidst the hubbub.

Damn it, he had to try.

Dodging around the clusters of people on deck, Eizen hurried toward Aifread, almost knocking over Benwick on the way.

"Aifread!"

Aifread turned, seeming to scan the deck to determine who was calling for him. When his gaze landed on Eizen, he smiled.

"Morning!" he called back, waving a hand.

"You've got to reconsider this," Eizen said breathlessly, coming to a halt in front of him. "This attack. It's a bad idea."

            "A bad..." Aifread tilted his head, brow furrowing as he regarded Eizen. "What are you talking about?"

            "I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but—"

            "Cap'n!" Benwick, having finally caught up to Eizen, skidded to a stop. "Caiphas is ready to start the chase, on your orders."

            "Do it," Aifread said, not looking away from Eizen. A shadow had crossed his expression, as if they were about to spar again and he was sizing him up.

            "Wait—" Eizen started, but Benwick was already scampering off.

            Aifread took a step closer, and Eizen suddenly understood why the captain of the Van Eltia was feared in dozens of ports, why Aifread had the intimidating reputation he did. He made no outward move toward a weapon, nor was the increased tension in his posture overtly threatening...but his face had changed. The air of casual joviality was gone, and in its place was a fierceness Eizen had never seen from any human. It wasn't cold—far from it. It _burned_ , like embers just beneath the surface, ready to blaze to life if given the slightest fuel.

            "Do you know something?" Aifread asked, very softly.

            "What?" So caught was Eizen by his sudden shift in attitude that it took him a moment to process Aifread's meaning. "No! Not about the Abbey. I'm not— _with_ them, or anything."

            Aifread relaxed slightly, but kept his eyes on him, as if he could read Eizen's mind by staring. "Then?"

            "It's me," Eizen said, words tumbling over each other in a rush to explain before Aifread dismissed him. "I'm cursed. If you do this with me on board—"

            "Cursed?" The fire in Aifread's expression faded into bewilderment. Whatever he'd been expecting Eizen to say, it was apparent that hadn't been it.

            "Please, you have to believe—"

            A thunderous crack tore through the air, followed by a splash. Eizen stumbled as the deck tilted under his feet, the ship pitching from the sudden wave. The smell of smoke wafted up from the water.

            "Return fire!" he heard Taroch bellow, answered by a multitude of shouts from the pirates. He had no idea how anyone made sense of any instructions in the midst of all the clamor.

            Aifread glanced over his shoulder, to Caiphas at the helm, then back to Eizen. He shook his head, seeming to come to a decision. "It'll be fine. Get below if you don't want to be caught up in this." He turned away.

            Eizen caught his sleeve. "You don't understand—"

            Aifread leaned closer, his hair brushing past Eizen's cheek, as another chorus of shouts went up from around them. "Then I invite you to explain later."

            With that, he pulled away and was gone, striding across the deck. He jumped nimbly up the steps leading to the forecastle and took up a position at the very front of the ship's bow, facing down their quarry.

            _Shit_.

            The Abbey ship had gained on them, sails flared wide with the wind. Brigantine, frigate, galleon, all those terms Karina had thrown around—he couldn't remember which one Karina had used—what the fuck did it matter, in this instance? The ship was fast, and it had guns. More guns than the Van Eltia. And trained exorcists and their leashed malak shells.

            Another crack resounded. The Van Eltia pitched again, a wave crashing over the deck. Closer, that shot had been closer—

            _You are going to get these people killed._

            " _Move_!" Eizen dimly heard from behind him. He turned, feeling oddly slowed, as if he were moving in a dream. He stepped to the side just in time to avoid Aolas as he hurried past, bearing a box of powder and a cannon fuse.

            " _Now_!" Taroch bellowed, and another explosion split the air. In the distance, one of the masts of the Abbey ship splintered. A cheer went up from the pirates.

            The noise broke through Eizen's haze, and a sudden sense of dread overtook him. Dodging out of the way of the pirates swarming around the cannons, he scrambled up the forecastle steps and hurried to Aifread's side. He couldn't have explained why—surely it was safer _away_ from him—but he couldn't shake the thought that something was about to happen, and maybe he could—

            "Well," Aifread said, conversationally, as if they were still sitting on the barrels sharing a drink. He didn't take his eyes off the other ship. "What do you think of your first sea battle?"

            "Can't tell how we're doing," Eizen said, trying to match his nonchalance. From the sideways glance Aifread shot him, he hadn't succeeded.

            "They're down a mast and we still have all ours. I'd call that progress."

            The Abbey ship had closed the gap between them, close enough for Eizen to see the faces of the exorcists on board—their malaks too, easily picked out by their blank expressions. Their white and blue uniforms stood in stark contrast to the dark wood of the ship and the several splashes of red now painting its deck. Another shot, and a portion of their ship's side exploded into wooden shards, sending several exorcists flying. The praetor commanding them screamed an order from his position at the helm, of which Eizen only caught snatches: "starboard—stay on guns—Van Aifread _at all costs_ —"

            "That's my cue," Aifread murmured, and jumped on top of the ship's rail. It was a precarious position, but his boots were as steady on the rail as if he'd been standing on solid land. Behind him, his coat billowed out in the wind.

"Surrender!" he called, his voice somehow cutting through the noise of the battle. "Surrender and your lives will be spared!"

            From the way the praetor's face contorted in rage, Eizen knew he'd heard. The man gestured in Aifread's direction, but his words were lost amidst another crack of the cannon.

            A shower of splinters stung Eizen's scalp, and he ducked behind the railing, shielding himself with his sleeve. He stood again, heart pounding, and cast frantically around for Aifread—but he was still there, standing on the rail, bits of wood embedded in his coat and hat. _So they're not just decorative_ , Eizen thought—an absurd thing to cross his mind _now_ , in the midst of all this.

            Another cannon boomed, this one the Van Eltia's, and the Abbey ship's middle mast shattered. Eizen looked back to the praetor, but he wasn't standing at the helm anymore—in fact, there _wasn't_ a helm anymore, just a cracked tangle of wood and—

Eizen felt the crackle of the arte on the breeze before he saw the exorcist casting it, moving in concert with an empty-eyed wind malak woman. Time seemed to slow down for a moment as he watched them, their white sleeves tracing a graceful trail through the air; he tasted the tang of electricity and the sharpness of—

_Move!_ Eizen yelled, or meant to—maybe he hadn't said anything after all, because Aifread's face as he knocked his feet out from the rail underneath him was nothing short of astonished.

Aifread fell to the deck, slamming into Eizen as Eizen wrapped an arm around him and rolled, trying to minimize the impact. The two tumbled to a stop against the forecastle railing, tangled together by Aifread's coat.

The bolt of lightning hit one of the Van Eltia's masts, leaving a blackened scorch mark before dissipating. The mast cracked slightly, but held.

Distantly, Eizen heard a cheer, and hoped fervently that it was the pirates.

"Ouch," Aifread said, from underneath him. "But thank you."

Somehow, even sprawled across the deck twisted in his own coat with his hat askew over one eye, Aifread still managed to maintain a rakish air. Eizen would have been envious if he hadn't been too busy being impressed.

            Eizen tried to extricate himself from the folds of the coat, but succeeded only in elbowing Aifread in the chest. "Oof. Sorry."

            "You won't hear a complaint from me," Aifread said, and grinned. "Either about the timely rescue of my person or the ensuing circumstances."

            If Eizen hadn't known better, he would have sworn that sounded like flirtation. _Is he...no. Hardly the time for that._

            "However," Aifread continued, "I should probably stand up before the crew starts believing I've perished after all. Terrible for morale, that. Hold still." Gently, he unwound his coat from Eizen's legs and maneuvered him off of his chest. He scrambled to his feet and offered Eizen a hand.

            "Thanks," Eizen said, taking it. Aifread's fingers closed around his, and he pulled Eizen to his feet effortlessly.

            The Abbey ship beside the Van Eltia listed to one side, taking on water. The pirates were already swarming over its deck, disarming the defeated exorcists and hauling up multiple boxes from its hold.

            "Was...that it?" Eizen asked.

            A smile spread across Aifread's face. "That's it."

            Eizen's knees faltered, but with an effort he managed to keep standing. _Thank you_ , he thought, to anything and everything that might be listening. _Empyreans, fortune, fate—whatever kept that fucking curse from getting them today, thank you_.

            "What now?" he asked.

            "Now," Aifread said, "we take everything that isn't nailed down off their ship and leave them to limp back to the nearest harbor. And now you've probably joined us as a wanted man. Sorry about that."

            Eizen started to laugh, and found he couldn't stop. _They're all right._

            Aifread waited patiently, the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement.

"It's a good thing they didn't knock you into the water," Eizen said, once he'd gotten his breath back. "I can't swim."

Aifread opened his mouth, closed it again—then began laughing too.

            "Well," he said, leaning against the railing. "I'm sure we can fix that."

*

            From his perch atop the crow's nest, Eizen had a good view of the festivities on deck. The pirates were making short work of the foodstuffs and drink they'd claimed from the Abbey ship. The center of the deck had been cleared of boxes and ropes to form an impromptu dance floor, presided over by Aolas playing a rather squeaky violin. Up on the forecastle, Benwick re-enacted some of the more impressive maneuvers carried out by the others when boarding their quarry, his voice carrying easily across the ship as he narrated various feats of derring-do—highly embellished, Eizen supposed, but the kid was having fun; he couldn't fault him for that. With the exception of Benwick, no one's voices were distinct enough from this height to pick anything out besides general merriment and the frequent snatch of laughter on the wind.

            The waves were calm, and the mauled Abbey ship had long since disappeared in the Van Eltia's wake. No sign of the curse kicking up again, at least not yet. Eizen leaned against the mast and closed his eyes, not to sleep—he was still too on edge from the battle to be properly tired—but to absorb the atmosphere. It had been a good day for them. He hoped that wasn't about to change.

            The rope ladder to the crow's nest creaked, followed by the dull thud of boots onto the boards.

            "Worn out already?" he heard Aifread's amused voice from above him.

            Eizen opened his eyes. "Not exactly."

            "Good," Aifread said. "Given the evening's mood, that would be a damn shame. Though you're missing most of it, lurking up here."

            "Better vantage point this way."

            "That depends on what you're looking for." Aifread seemed to be holding back a chuckle. "Mind if I sit?"

            Eizen shrugged, gesturing to the space next to him. _Damn it_. Aifread was going to want answers, want to know why he'd tried to warn them away from attacking the Abbey ship. And the way he'd been acting, he was probably going to have to say something. He didn't usually try to warn people away from the curse; it was easier not to get too close to begin with. The few times he _had_ tried, they'd either distanced themselves if they believed him—or they didn't believe him, or didn't care, and that always turned out worse.

            He hoped the Van Eltia's rowboats were sturdy.

            Aifread sat down, sweeping his coat out of the way so it settled to the crow's nest boards, and leaned back against the mast on Eizen's right side. He rested one boot over the other, crossing his legs at the ankles, and said, "You know, most celebrations are best up close."

            Startled, Eizen glanced over. It was difficult to tell Aifread's expression from profile, shadowed as it was in the dark. The lights from the deck did little to illuminate the crow's nest, high up as it was, and the moon was a scant sliver in the sky.

            "Are you saying I should stop lurking?" he asked.

            Aifread chuckled. "I'm saying you might enjoy yourself more with some company." He lingered before the last word just long enough for Eizen to wonder what exactly he meant by that.

            _What do you **want** him to mean by that?_ It was a ridiculous question. Even if Aifread _was_ flirting, it wasn't as though anything could actually come of it. Not with this damned curse hanging over his head, waiting to claim anyone who got too close. Unbidden, the memory of his sparring match with Aifread rose to mind—Aifread's well-muscled chest beneath him, the delighted gleam in Aifread's eyes, Aifread's pulse under the hand he'd pressed against Aifread's wrist. _Enough_ , he told himself sternly, forcing his thoughts back to the conversation at hand. He was glad it was dark enough so that the sudden warmth in his cheeks would probably go unnoticed.

            "I might," he said. "It doesn't usually go both ways."

            "Are you implying others don't find you likable?" Aifread said, with exaggerated shock.

            "Just dangerous."

            "Ah, you've caught us out. The only pirates on all the seas who get spooked by a little danger."

            Eizen sighed. "A little danger doesn't cover it."

            "So you're in trouble." Aifread didn't turn his head to look at him directly, but Eizen could tell his interest was piqued.

            "I _am_ trouble."

            "Rumor has it, so am I."

            Eizen could _tell_ Aifread was grinning, which wasn't helping his attempts to deny that the man was attractive or charming in the slightest.

            "Not like this," he said. "Look, I—this is going to sound like a crazy superstition, but—"

            "Sailors," Aifread said, "are also a superstitious lot."

            "I'm cursed," Eizen said. The words hung in the air, filling the space between them. Eizen shoved away the sudden dread in the pit of his stomach—what was he afraid of, really? It was better that Aifread know than not, and if that resulted in him being thrown overboard...well, that was probably better, too.

            "Cursed," Aifread said flatly.

            "Yeah." Eizen took a deep breath. "I...bring bad luck to anyone around me. Misfortune. Disaster. It comes after me too, but I'm always...a little insulated from the worst it can bring. Other people aren't so lucky." He chanced a glance over at Aifread, but his face was still in shadow.

            "So when you said we shouldn't attack that ship..." Aifread said slowly.

            "Things go badly when I'm around. Dangerous things especially. I don't—want any of you to get hurt because of me."

            "Here I thought you were running from someone."

            Eizen chuckled, but was a sharp, hollow sound. "Just myself. But that's hopeless, so I can at least try to keep other people out of the crossfire."

            "Sounds lonely as hell." Aifread finally turned to face him, a faint furrow visible between his brows. He didn't look angry, at least, just thoughtful.

            Eizen shrugged. "Maybe. Not much I can do about it, unless I can find a way to break this thing. I call it the Reaper's Curse."

            "Is that how you see yourself?" Aifread leaned forward, his gaze intent on Eizen's. "As the Reaper?"

            "Suppose I do." Now, Eizen decided, was definitely _not_ the time to dwell on the warm hazel shade of Aifread's eyes, nor his look of genuine concern.

            "Well," Aifread said, "Reaper or not, you're still welcome aboard my ship."

            "How can you—"

            "I believe in luck." Aifread smiled. "I'd be a fool not to. I'm not dismissing your curse. But I also believe that in some instances, you have to tell luck to go fuck itself. We're pirates, pirates tangling with major world powers at that, and if we relied on luck, we'd all be dead at the bottom of the ocean."

            "But you keep doing this," Eizen said. "Why?"

            Aifread turned away, looking out over the ocean. The reflections of the stars glimmered upon the water, fractured to shining fragments in the current when the waves rolled. Out on the open water, Eizen could almost believe that no land existed at all, that the only things in the world were the Van Eltia and those aboard it.

Aifread was silent long enough that Eizen thought he wasn't going to answer.

"Some things," he said finally, "are worth risking everything for. Even if this does end badly—if we all die tomorrow—I'd have no regrets. I don't think anyone else on this ship would, either, or they wouldn't be here. Besides, curse or no curse, it's not like we could toss you back in the ocean."

"Uh—"

"Ah. You thought we were going to toss you back in the ocean, didn't you?" Aifread chuckled and turned to lean against the mast again, his shoulder lightly brushing Eizen's.

"You'd probably be better off if you did."

"Would you care to wager how many times people have told me I'd be better off taking a sensible course of action than embarking on whatever scheme I've dreamed up?"

"I'm assuming the number is quite high," Eizen said dryly.

"Correct. Care to wager how many times I've paid any attention whatsoever?"

"Given the thread of this conversation...not many?"

"Not many at all. Only if they have a better suggestion in mind. And no, giving you a rowboat doesn't count."

"Even if it's your best rowboat?" Eizen said, matching his bantering tone. The knot that had been in his stomach since the battle had eased, leaving only a bubble of relief in its place. He knew he _shouldn't_ be relieved—he was still putting them all in danger—but...damn it, he could at least get as far as Yseult without disaster striking. He hoped.

"Even then," Aifread said. "I like my best rowboat, and I'm not giving it up to satisfy your desire to be a martyr."

"Oh, well then," Eizen said, unable to hold back a chuckle. "I'd hate to deprive you."

"That's what I like to hear." Aifread clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on. There's a tankard of blackberry wine down there with your name on it. At least, there is if Taroch hasn't drunk it all."

            Eizen knew he should keep his distance, avoid getting attached to any of them. If he did that, it was less likely the curse would fall on them—and also less likely that he'd keep noticing the outline of Aifread's muscles through his shirt.

            On the other hand, blackberry wine was suddenly a very appealing prospect.

            "All right," he said, and followed Aifread down the ladder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait!
> 
> (I seriously cannot get anything to indent correctly on here; if anyone can make sense of AO3's formatting stuff, let me know?)


	5. Chapter 5

The malakhim, due to their spiritual ties to nature, are born with an intrinsic respect for the elements. The one they are closest to varies depending on the individual malak and the circumstances of their creation, but they all share a strong empathic tie to the forces of the natural world. To the extent that malak have their own spirituality unique from humans, it is often focused on the elements, and the role and importance of each in balance—all playing a vital role in the universe that is to be respected and honored.

            "Water," Eizen said, "can go fuck itself."

            His point was punctuated by another round of coughing, producing a truly remarkable quantity of saltwater considering he'd already expelled what felt like an entire ocean from his lungs.

            "Ah, come on now." Aifread shook his head vigorously, sending water droplets flying in every direction, and sat down next to him. "I thought that attempt was going fine."

            "Until the seaweed."

            "Yes, well." Aifread plucked at his soaked sleeve, made a face, and began trying to wring out his shirt cuffs one inch at a time. "No accounting for—"

            "The curse," Eizen said. In spite of the lotion Aifread had given him, he could feel his skin starting to burn in the sun, still strong even though it was now low in the sky. The heat had steadily been growing worse as they headed further south toward Yseult. "I told you this was a bad idea."

            "Don't worry," Aifread said. "I don't mind diving in to rescue you on occasion."

            "Six occasions." Eizen reached a hand into the pocket of his swim trunks, momentarily panicking when he didn't find his dog figurine there, then remembered he'd left it in his pants pocket upon imagining all the things that could go wrong with bringing his vessel out into the open ocean. The figurine, along with his pants, was safely tucked in one of the hammocks below deck.

            "Six occasions that will make memorable stories!" Giving up on wringing out his sleeves, Aifread turned his attention to tugging off his boots instead. More seawater splashed across the deck as he upended them over the planks.

            Eizen sighed. "If you're expecting to have to swim after me anyway, why not wear swim trunks to begin with?"

            "First," Aifread said, shaking the last of the water out of his left boot, "because you're wearing mine."

            "I am?" Eizen hadn't previously considered the source of the swimsuit Aifread had tossed at him when they'd begun these lessons several weeks ago—even if he had, he probably would have assumed it was Aolas's, from whom he'd gotten the rest of his borrowed wardrobe.

            "Swimwear isn't high on the list of pirate-able goods, I'm afraid, so we don't exactly have extras lying around. Second, and more importantly, if I were wearing swim trunks, I wouldn't be able to dramatically doff my coat as I leapt from the railing to save you from certain drowning."

            "Empyreans forbid you'd be unable to indulge your desire for theatrics." Eizen quickly glanced away, then back out of the corner of his eye, as Aifread began unbuttoning his shirt. He'd grown familiar—too familiar—with the outline of Aifread's chest due to the number of times he'd seen him soaking wet on these misadventures, but Aifread had always headed back to his cabin to change before.

            "I like my theatrics," Aifread said unrepentantly, undoing the last button and shrugging out of his shirt. It sank to the deck with a wet _thwap_. "And so does the rest of the crew. You would too, if you weren't so stubborn."

            Eizen attempted to stare nonchalantly straight ahead, trying not to stare—or, conversely, awkwardly avoid looking at Aifread entirely. With luck, any pink in his cheeks would be attributed to the sun.

Aifread leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out in front of him, and tilted his face to the sky. Eizen had known the general lines of his muscles—the tanned skin, too, could be assumed by the rest of Aifread's complexion—but he hadn't expected the number of scars crossing Aifread's torso. A jagged line across a bicep here, a round indent in the shoulder blade there...even a mark that looked like a brand, burned at the base of his spine. Eizen didn't recognize the symbol, and had no idea whether the mark was a decoration Aifread had chosen, or something inflicted on him.

With an effort, Eizen tore his gaze away and back down to the deck. He pressed his palm into the planks, using the prickling of splinters in his skin as a distraction. He'd grown used to the swaying of the ship over the past few weeks, and now rarely noticed it except when he wasn't moving around himself.

"I think we should give up on the swimming lessons," he said, more abruptly than intended.

Aifread cracked an eyelid open. "Whatever for?"

_Because this is starting to get distracting_. He had no idea if his swim-suited form had any similar effect on Aifread; judging by the man's demeanor, he doubted it.

"Because it's going to get one or both of us killed," he said instead.

"If you didn't give up after the sharks, there's no reason to give up now," Aifread said.

"I _should_ have given up after the sharks."

"Nonsense. All we have to do is outlast your curse's patience so it gives up on this particular way of killing us."

"Maybe it's escaped your attention," Eizen grumbled, "but _I'm_ not that patient."

"It hasn't." Aifread grinned. "Fortunately, I'm patient enough for both of us."

_Should have known better than to try to ward a pirate away with the threat of danger._ Eizen sighed. "How long until we reach Yseult?"

            Aifread raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment at the sudden change in topic. Still, he regarded Eizen for a moment before answering, and not for the first time, Eizen wished he could tell what the man was thinking. In spite of having been on the ship nearly a month, he didn't know much more about Aifread than when the Van Eltia's crew had pulled him out of the water. It wasn't as though he'd _asked_ , but still, the rest of the crew were all free enough with personal anecdotes. He knew Mori had been born in Lothringen and sent money back to her sister there, that Taroch had joined Van Eltia after daemons destroyed his village, that Aolas and Karina had had a brief romance ending in a friendship composed primarily of giving each other shit. Aifread, for all he knew, may as well have sprung fully formed from the boards of the Van Eltia's deck. He doubted it, though; Aifread was no malak.

"About a week, give or take," Aifread said. "Less if the wind is good."

            As if on cue, a breeze swept across the deck, tangling the damp strands of Aifread's hair together in a whirl. Eizen shook the salt-stiffened hair out of his own eyes, telling himself he wasn't in the slightest bit tempted to help Aifread untangle his.

            "You're not going to give up on this, are you?" he asked.

            "Swimming," Aifread said, "is an essential life skill, curse or no curse." He stood, gathering up his boots and shirt. "Same time tomorrow afternoon."

            His tone brooked no room for argument. Grudgingly, Eizen nodded.

            "Cheer up," Aifread said over his shoulder, as he headed toward the forecastle stairs. "We're bound to make some progress eventually."

            _Unless we get to Yseult first_. The thought, reasonable as it was, nonetheless didn't improve Eizen's mood. He liked the Van Eltia's crew, and he had to admit waylaying that Abbey ship had been gratifying. If it wasn't for that damned curse, he _could_ see himself joining their crew.

            But the longer he stayed here, the higher the chance for disaster. Better to get out now, before the curse brought calamity down on their heads.

*

            Aifread kept a steady pace up to the forecastle deck, not looking back as he made his way up the stairs. Caiphas, at the helm, seemed to be keeping his eyes on the horizon, but Aifread would be surprised if the chat had entirely escaped his notice; Caiphas was too far away to have overheard anything, but if there was one thing years of captaining had taught him, it was that his crew would always be observant precisely when he'd rather they weren't.

            Caiphas greeted him with a nod, not taking his gaze off the sea. "How was the lesson?"

            "I think he's getting better," Aifread said. Not quickly enough for Eizen's patience, though; if something didn't improve soon, he'd probably give up in frustration.

"No sharks today," Caiphas commented. The helm creaked as he turned it slightly to the left. Below, the waves splashed gently against the Van Eltia's hull.

"Thankfully, no. Although we did have a quarrel with some giant kelp. Opinionated vegetable, as it turns out."

Caiphas made a quickly suppressed noise that might have been a snort. "Who won?"

"We both made it back on board, so I think we got the better of the exchange. How's our course?"

"Steady," Caiphas said. He squinted into the setting sun, now painting the sky in splashes of red. "Making good time. Should get to Yseult in five days if the wind holds."

"Ah." Aifread had known that was going to be the answer; the wind had been favorable for the past week and showed no signs of turning. Still, hearing the words out loud caused a sudden pang of dismay. "Right. Good then."

Caiphas settled the helm into position, leaning against it to peer down to the right at the sea below them. The water was calm, the Van Eltia slicing smoothly through the waves, and Caiphas straightened up again, seemingly satisfied. "You don't sound pleased."

"Pleased enough," Aifread said, with determined good cheer. "Yseult will be a good place to unload our latest cargo, and it'll help the crew's spirits to have a bit of shore leave."

"Doesn't seem to be helping yours." Caiphas's tone was casually neutral, but Aifread had been sailing with the man long enough to know when there was an inquiry behind his indifferent tone.

"You know me. I get restless when we're not on the move."

For a few minutes, Caiphas was silent. The only sound came from the creak of the rigging and the gentle lapping of the waves against the Van Eltia's bow.

"I do."

Startled, Aifread glanced over; he'd begun to hope that Caiphas had given up the topic. "Do what?"

"Know you."

Not entirely sure where this was going, Aifread made himself chuckle. "I suppose we've been sailing together long enough."

"And no," Caiphas said, a hint of amusement creeping into his tone, "I don't think there's anything I can do to slow our course down. The wind does what it will."

"I didn't—"

"You didn't have to."

"I wasn't _going_ to." Aifread adjusted the helm a few degrees, more for something to do than any real concern for the Van Eltia's heading. He was familiar enough with Caiphas's nonchalant way of hinting around a point, but going any further with the conversation would mean facing up to a few things he'd been trying to nip in the bud.

"I know," Caiphas said.

A sudden wind caught the Van Eltia's sails, giving the ship a boost of speed, and the deck pitched slightly. Above, Aifread heard Aolas calling commands, instructing the others to adjust the rigging to account for the change.

If—but no. Eizen was determined to leave when they got to Yseult, and that was that.

"You haven't told him where we're headed," Caiphas said. It wasn't a question.

Aifread shook his head, not bothering to pretend he didn't know who he meant.

"Why not?"

That hadn't been the question Aifread expected. "We agreed—"

"To keep it under wraps, sure. But he seems trustworthy enough. Even if it doesn't convince him to sign on, I doubt he'd spread it around."

Aifread looked back out over the water. The shrieks of seagulls, omnipresent closer to shore, were a distant memory this far out; the quiet of a peaceful day at sea always put him in a thoughtful mood. That wasn't always a good thing.

He hadn't told the others about Eizen's curse. It had seemed to be something the man had wanted to keep private, and they'd agreed to a level of danger when they'd signed on that far outstripped the nature of one person's bad luck—uncanny level of it or no. He could sense Eizen keeping them all at arm's length, avoiding getting too close, and wondered if that was due to the curse, or if he generally tended to be more aloof anyway. He _wanted_ to tempt Eizen into joining the crew—but was that fair? The far continent was full of strange magic and stranger artifacts—Siegfried was far from the only treasure it held—but it seemed cruel to dangle the lure of a cure for Eizen's curse in front of him without knowing whether one would actually be found there.

Still, if he were Eizen, he'd want to at least try. Or was he just telling himself that because he was quickly growing biased in the matter? Something about Eizen intrigued him—his fighting style, his stubbornness, his reserve—was it his imagination that there was a wistfulness in Eizen's manner sometimes, as he watched the others' interactions from afar? If Eizen left at Yseult, he'd never know; he felt as if he'd be leaving a book half-finished.

"Probably not," he agreed, in answer to Caiphas. "Though he seems pretty determined to go his own way. I doubt we could change his mind."

Caiphas shrugged. "Maybe not. But you never know until you try."

"You sound like you're hoping he stays on."

The corners of Caiphas's eyes crinkled in amusement; Aifread glanced back toward the ocean, refusing to let on any more than he had already.

"Well, sure," Caiphas said. "He's a capable fighter, quick learner, and he _hates_ the Abbey. All valuable qualities."

Aifread had noticed that too, the way Eizen's hands tensed at any mention of the Abbey, as though he were ready to take the entire hierarchy down with his fists. He hasn't asked. The crew all had their own reasons for rebelling, and he knew not to press too much too soon; people shared things when they were ready, and not a moment sooner.

"Valuable indeed," Aifread said, relieved Caiphas had left him an excuse. "I think he'd make a good pirate, don't you?"

"He's already proven quite adept at stealing a few things I could name," Caiphas said, his tone bone-dry. "Helm's yours, Captain," he added, before Aifread could respond, and headed down the stairs below decks.

"That's not..." Aifread said to the empty air. He sighed, and adjusted the helm back where Caiphas had set it. Most of the time he appreciated the perceptive natures of most of his crew, but on occasion they were rather more observant than he would have preferred.

The sun had nearly set, its only presence now a sliver of gold over the horizon. Aifread glanced across the ship where Eizen had been sitting, but the deck was now occupied only by barrels and coils of rope.

*

Even this close to dusk, the sun was still intense. Eizen wiped a hand across his brow, sweat mingling with seawater as he tried to keep his vision clear. He'd managed to master treading water, anyway; he was able to keep his head out of it unless a particularly large wave swept by. He glanced down at his feet, but no stray bits of seaweed had materialized to tangle them this time.

"What's it going to be today, do you think?" he called to Aifread, who was treading water—seemingly effortlessly—down the length of the Van Eltia. _You jump in at the stern_ , Aifread had said, _I'll jump in at the bow, and you swim to me. All right?_ Simple enough, Eizen supposed, he'd mastered the _mechanics_ of swimming just fine—but he'd lived with his curse long enough to know that something was bound to go wrong. "More sharks? Sudden storm? Maybe some angry jellyfish?"

"Quit stalling," Aifread called back. "The sooner you get over here, the less time it gives for something to go wrong."

Well, he couldn't argue with that. He took a deep breath, coughing as a small wave splashed into his face, and slowly started forward. _One arm forward, other arm forward, steady_...

"Keep your strokes even!" Aifread shouted. "Less chance of dipping underwater that way."

Halfway there. Eizen's field of vision had narrowed to one single stretch of water, the side of the Van Eltia next to him, and Aifread ahead of him. Aifread looked so damn _hopeful_ , as if Eizen learning to swim was a lifelong dream of his, and he didn't want to disappoint him. He could taste saltwater and a hint of blood from his cracking lips, and used it as a focus point— _come on, come on, please let this work_...

He was only a few arm-lengths from Aifread now, but couldn't relax, didn't dare allow himself to believe he might actually pull this off—not yet. There was still time for whatever shit the curse was going to pull.

"That's it!" Aifread called, holding out his hands. "Almost there!"

Eizen drew in one more gulp of air and kicked faster— _almost_ —

His palms grazed Aifread's and he stopped dead, almost sinking in his surprise.

He'd made it.

"See?" Aifread exclaimed, beaming in triumph. "I knew you could do it!"

"Let's get back on board before we celebrate," Eizen said, although he felt a grin spreading across his own face. Aifread's enthusiasm was infectious.

"After you," Aifread said, gesturing to the rope slung over the side of the side.

Hardly daring to believe an angry shark wasn't going to jump out of the ocean at the last minute, Eizen scurried up the rope and scrambled over the rail back onto the Van Eltia. Aifread climbed up behind him, and as soon as his feet hit the deck, he clapped Eizen's shoulder in congratulation.

"I told you! Just a little persistence." Aifread grinned, that wild gleam appearing in his eyes again, and winked. "Now your curse will stop bothering you about that particular circumstance."

"I don't know if that's how it works," Eizen said, though he couldn't hold back a chuckle. He caught his gaze drifting to the water beading across Aifread's bare chest and forestalled it.

"Worth a try, isn't it?"

"Couldn't hurt," he agreed, though he was well aware that wasn't quite true.

Aifread clapped a hand on his shoulder again, this time lingering for just a moment longer. "I'd better get dressed. Few things to look into before dinner. Nice work."

"Hey," Eizen said, as he turned to head belowdecks. "Thanks."

Aifread grinned again, offering an ironic salute, and sauntered down the stairs.

Watching him go, Eizen realized his hand had drifted up to touch his shoulder, where Aifread's fingers had brushed his skin, and hastily returned it to its proper position at his side.

Four days to Yseult, now, by Caiphas's estimation. Soon, he'd be off the Van Eltia and no longer posing a threat to the crew aboard it. Instead, he only felt an irritability that he recognized as melancholy trying to transmute itself into something more palatable.

_For the best_ , he told himself, and went to go change.

*

Aifread was greeted, as he'd expected to be, in front of the door to his cabin.

"Any trouble?" he asked—needlessly, as he could guess the answer. Karina hadn't changed out of her swimsuit yet, and several red welts were visible on her stomach and legs. Her face was scratched, and her hair was tangled and matted to her head in a way that suggested something had been yanking on it underwater.

"Jellyfish," she said archly, raising an eyebrow. "Three of them. _And_ a tangle of debris next to the hull that I almost got caught in trying to keep them away from your side of the ship. I managed to net them eventually, but it wasn't easy. You're lucky I like you, captain."

"I am," Aifread said, and meant it. Karina might tease him about this—mercilessly—but he'd known she'd do it and she wouldn't tell Eizen if he asked her not to. "I owe you."

"Damn right you do." She grinned. "Rigging shifts only until we reach shore?"

"Deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! I had some work deadlines and then a family emergency requiring me to travel out of state, but I hope to keep a more regular schedule for this from now on.


	6. Chapter 6

When the cry of "Land!" went up, Eizen was unprepared, though it hadn't been unexpected.  Seagulls had made their reappearance in the sky two days before, these ones bigger than their northern cousins but not nearly as loud, with only the occasional peculiar warble floating through the humid air instead of piercing shrieks.

            "Land!" Karina called again, from the crow's nest.

            Eizen stepped closer to the rail, letting the Van Eltia's crew maneuver around him.  Yseult. Almost. He wouldn't feel fully comfortable until they actually docked—always room for something to go wrong before then—but at the very least, away from open sea, whatever happened should be survivable.

            He swiped a hand over his brow to get rid of the sweat beading across it. He'd doffed his coat, but it still didn't seem to help. The air this far south seemed to wrap around anything it touched like a warm blanket. Aifread, poised at the helm, had retained not only his coat but his hat as well; Eizen wondered how he hadn't keeled over from heatstroke. He didn't even appear to be uncomfortable.

            "At least there's a breeze," Aolas said from behind him.

            Eizen managed to stop himself from jumping, barely. Normally he was fairly observant, but most of the crew moved so damn quietly that they were easy to miss unless they were actively trying to make noise—Benwick excepted; Eizen didn't think the kid could keep quiet if his life depended on it.

            "Hot breezes don't count," he said.

            Aolas grinned. "Cheer up. Once we dock at Yseult, we'll be greeted with nice shady palm trees and cold drinks."

            "I'm told they usually expect money for those," Eizen said dryly, "and all of mine ended up at the bottom of the ocean near Taliesin."

            "Ah, you'll be fine. Just sit at the bar and look mysterious, and people will be falling over themselves to buy you drinks." In response to Eizen's raised eyebrow, he laughed. "Or just ask the captain for your share from the Abbey ship."

            "My...share?"

            "Sure. You helped out, didn't you?"

            "I mostly stood by the railing like an idiot," Eizen said. "I don't think that entitles me to a share of the profits."

            "And saved the captain's life, the way he tells it."

            _Only after likely risking it in the first place_. Unbidden, Eizen's hand drifted to the figurine in his pocket, gliding his thumb over the cool ceramic. He brushed it over the dog's head—once, twice—as someone else might rub a talisman for luck. _Luck. Ha._

            "Wasn't as impressive as that makes it sound," he said. "All I did was knock him over."

            Aolas shrugged. "Well, _he_ was impressed. Said you have good instincts."

            "A nose for trouble, maybe. How long until we reach shore?"

            "About an hour, maybe less if the wind is good."

            "Guess I'd better get my old clothes back on, then," said Eizen, turning to head belowdecks. "Wouldn't want to abscond with yours."

            "You that eager to get rid of us?" Aolas called after him.

            Eizen just waved a hand in response. He wasn't. That was the problem.

*

            Aifread's crew seemed to be well known in Yseult's eponymous port town; a rotund, brown-skinned man with a tattoo of a snake around one arm hailed them from the dock as soon as the Van Eltia slid in beside it. A few ropes looped around the dock's short wooden pillars, a quick exchange between Aifread and the man—during which Eizen saw the glint of coins moving from Aifread's hand—and they were waved ashore.

            "Friendly reception," Eizen murmured. He didn't realize he'd said it out loud until Benwick, next to him, nodded enthusiastically.

            "That's the harbormaster!" Benwick exclaimed. He looked excited to enough to vibrate himself into the air like a hummingbird and make for shore that way. "He's a nice guy. He knows who we are, but as long as we officially dock under another name and don't make trouble while we're here, he doesn't mind us hanging around."

            "And trouble," Caiphas rumbled from behind them, "is what we'd like to avoid at the moment." He clapped a hand on Benwick's shoulder. "Don't bother the pengyons this time."

            Benwick pouted. "I still say they'd make a good ship mascot."

            "Not unless we never leave the tropics, they wouldn't. Leave the poor critters where they belong." In spite of Caiphas's gruff tone, the twinkle in his eye indicated he was more amused than annoyed. Eizen still had no idea how a kid had ended up on a pirate ship, though he guessed the crew viewed Benwick as a better mascot than any pengyon.

            The town itself seemed to be mostly situated on a series of wooden decks high above the sand, sprawling out into the water like moss overgrowing a rock. Winding bridges crossed between platforms, and a number of small stalls and shops were placed haphazardly along them. A jumble of sales pitches from the sellers directed at those passing by floated through the air, hawking everything from pineapples to jewelry. The platforms higher up the tangle of wooden crossings held larger buildings; some were houses with large arched doors, and some appeared to be shops or restaurants.

            "Right!" Aifread's voice cut through the general chatter. Caiphas and Benwick both snapped to attention, as did the rest of the crew, who stopped what they were doing to watch him on the dock. "Take care of your usual docking duties, then you're all officially on shore leave."

            A cheer went up from the crew, followed by a flurry of activity as they all got to work. Silhouetted figures scrambled through the rigging, busily taking in the sails, while those on deck started scrubbing the boards.

            Aifread strode back up the gangplank, stopping in front of Eizen. "Still resolved to leave us?"

            Eizen glanced back at the ship, more so he wouldn't have to meet Aifread's gaze. He wasn't sure if he could meet those mischievous hazel eyes without his resolve wavering. Aifread seemed to be the sort of man who was used to getting his own way, and used to enlisting all of his considerable charm in the effort to make that happen. Eizen suspected every member of the Van Eltia's crew would lay down their life for their captain, if necessary. Aifread had a way about him that made you like him, but it was more than that. He made you _interested_ in him, captivating the attention of those around him like the old tales of sea sirens. In normal circumstances, that sort of charm had an edge of danger to it, the sort people would happily drown in. In his own—well, he knew he posed more of a danger to Aifread than the contrary.

            "Probably best," he said, trying to sound self-assured.

            Aifread inclined his head slightly, as if conceding a point. "Hang around for dinner and drinks, at least? The crew always has quite the party whenever we make landfall."

            "Can I stay up for—" Benwick began, perking up.

            "No," Caiphas and Aifread chorused.

            As Caiphas attempted to forestall further inquiry, Aifread looked back at Eizen, seeming to dismiss Benwick's resultant efforts at negotiation from his notice.

            "Please," he said. A rakish smile crossed his face, but it appeared a bit strained. "It's the least we can do."

            "I think that's my line," Eizen said. "You _did_ save my life."

            "And you saved mine, so we're even. That seems to call for a celebration, no?"

            They'd made it to land, at least. Eizen knew that the longer he stayed with them, the more he risked the curse's manifestations—he'd probably risked too much already—and he knew better than to suspect the worst was behind them. It never was, with him.

            _One evening of a party, dammit. I can spare that._

            "All right," he said. "I'd hate to miss the festivities."

            Aifread's smile brightened, losing its taut edge. "Excellent. Feel free to wander about; I expect we'll be easy to find once things get going. Oh!" He reached into his coat pocket and drew out a small pouch. "Your share of the Abbey take."

            "I don't need—"

            "With our compliments," Aifread said firmly. "Never let it be said that the Van Eltia doesn't reward those who help her out."

            "Well." Eizen tucked the pouch into his pocket, carefully nestling it underneath the ceramic dog. "Thanks."

At least now he could pick up some new clothes, and probably have a bit left over to get...wherever he was going next. _I live on Southgand now, I suppose_. There were worse places. Plenty of sun, tropical beaches, not too much Abbey presence. If he headed for the interior of the continent, it would be less populated. He could continue wandering from there.

"I expect they'll start things off in the Deep Blue," Aifread said, gesturing to a wooden building toward the top of one of the spiraling walkways. A small veranda adjoined it, housing mostly unoccupied clusters of tables and chairs. A rooftop porch with more tables was barely visible through the trellises of greenery atop the building. Eizen could see how the place had gotten its name—its glass windows were a bright cerulean color.

"At dusk?" he asked.

Aifread laughed. "As soon as they've gotten their duties taken care of. Most of the crew aren't the sort to wait when carousing is involved."

Ignoring the sudden hollow feeling in his chest, he nodded to Aifread. "See you later, then."

Aifread gave him an ironic salute and sauntered back toward the Van Eltia, the edge of his coat lightly brushing Eizen as he passed.

"Right!" he called to the ship. "The sooner we're done here, the sooner we can relax a bit. Mori, make sure the helm is in good repair. Caiphas, we've got some maps to replace. Karina..."

Eizen headed down the spiral of the walkway, half listening as Aifread's voice grew fainter until it faded off. It had been nice to feel like he belonged to something, if only for a little while—but that was all it was. Just a mirage, fading along with Aifread's voice. He didn't belong with them. He couldn't. With things as they were, he was lucky they'd all made it to Yseult intact; he'd take that as a win. Those were damned rare enough.

The air was heavy with humidity, the salty tang of seawater in the air muted with the aroma of pineapples. A light breeze from the ocean kept Eizen's hair from sticking to his forehead, but did little to actually cool him. A long line of people snaked around the side of the boardwalk he was walking down; once he got closer, he could see the reason for the stall's popularity: a small silvery fish, piled up high in crates full of ice. The stall next to it, selling a variety of iced fruit juices, seemed to be doing a brisk business as well, though the line wasn't nearly as long. Eizen gave a polite nod to the fruit juice seller when she called out to him, but walked on.

He made his way down to ground level, where the wooden walkway met the sand. The waves had picked up since the Van Eltia had docked, and their gentle lapping at the shore had grown more insistent. In the foam of the surf, a cluster of pengyons sunned themselves on the rocks, chirping to each another. A wave broke over the stone and the group hopped up as one, sending a spray of water into the air as they shook it from their feathers. They repositioned themselves, then settled back down, their chirps now sounding more like grumbles.

Eizen sat down on a crate underneath one of the walkways, immediately glad to be in the shade. The locals all seemed to be wearing much lighter fabrics than he was, which he'd have to remedy when he went shopping.

It felt odd to be making plans of that sort, after a month at sea without having to think about where his next meal was coming from. Odd to think of going back to wandering aimlessly, without a heading besides trying to stay out of trouble as much as possible. Aifread—and the rest of the crew—seemed to have a _purpose_ , something they were trying to accomplish beyond simple survival.

But such things were for people without a curse hanging over their heads, for those whose very existence didn't threaten anything they might have tried to value.

*

Dusk had fallen on the Deep Blue; the light that filtered through the stained glass of the windows had darkened from azure to cobalt to indigo. The small crystals embedded in the walls of the tavern had begun to glow an hour before, their overlapping shards of light creating a peculiarly ethereal effect.

            Eizen sipped the last of his chilled rum and pushed the glass aside, adding it to the growing colony of empty glasses clustered in front of him on the table. The rest of the crew had apparently designated that the spot to get them out of the way, but viewed in isolation he expected the effect made him look like a raging alcoholic.

            "I fold," Aolas said, tossing his cards onto the pile of coins at the center of the table. He made a face. "Luck, she has abandoned me."

            Karina, next to him, fanned her own cards out and fluttered them in front of her face.  "You don't need luck if you can bluff."

            Eizen didn't know what the symbols on the cards signified in whatever game they were playing, but the others at the table burst out laughing. Satisfied, Karina swept up the pile of coins and added it to her own.

"Oh, come _on_ ," Aolas groaned, raking a hand through his hair. "You'll have the shirt off my back next."

Karina took a smug sip of her drink, a frothy blue concoction that smelled strongly of mint. "Maybe even your pants, if I'm feeling ambitious."

Eizen leaned back in his chair, enjoying the atmosphere. It had been a long time since he'd been able to just _relax_ , and though he knew he should stay wary for the curse, he couldn't help catching the crew's mood. Most of them were gathered around the table, though Benwick had already been packed off to bed and Taroch was over by the bar flirting up a storm with a local man. _He doesn't waste any time, that one_. Eizen watched them for a moment, noted the casual way Taroch brushed a hand across the other man's shoulder, leaning just a bit too close to be simply friendly as he murmured something in the man's ear.

He felt a sudden pang, and hurriedly turned his attention away.

"All right," Mori said, briskly shuffling the cards. "New round, same rules, 3-ante, and no slipping cards up your sleeve this time, Myrvis."

"Hmph," Myrvis said, brows snapping together in a glower. He took up the space of two chairs; Mori and Caiphas, on either side of him, looked comically small by comparison. Eizen couldn't tell if he was objecting to being accused of cheating or being caught at it.

"Who's in?" Mori continued.

            She was answered by a chorus of slightly slurred affirmations, followed by a shower of coins hitting the table.

            "Eizen?" she asked, glancing sideways at him as she dealt the cards.

            He demurred with a shake of his head and wave of his hand. Mori shrugged and continued dealing, crisply snapping each card away from the deck.

            "All right," Karina said, "Loser this time has to stand on the table and sing _Credeasi Misera_."

            Aolas plucked a peanut from the dish in front of him and tossed it at her. "Not again, dammit. That song's impossible and you know it. Loegres operatics are insane."

"Oh, you're a tenor, you'll be _fine_." Karina's grin had widened into what Eizen privately thought of as her polecat expression; it always put him in mind of a cat about to pounce.

"What if _you_ lose?"

"Then I'll just pop it up an octave, won't I? Quit whining and take your cards."

A brief lull fell over the table as they all surveyed their hands, but the chatter was quick to rekindle as they began the game.

Eizen glanced around for Aifread and didn't see him, hadn't since before dusk. Taroch was gone from the bar; presumably he'd headed off with his paramour for the evening. Perhaps Aifread had done something similar, found a charming Yseulti and—

He stood up, striding purposefully toward the bar. He needed another drink, and he needed some air.

"Hurricane," he said to the bartender, a young woman with a bright red flower in her hair. Too late, he remembered his manners; it was hardly her fault that he was suddenly cranky. "Please."

"You got it!" she said, fishing a tall curved glass from underneath the counter. With one swoop, she snatched up several bottles and set to work. As she splashed the rum into the glass, Eizen surveyed the tavern again, not entirely certain what he even meant to look for.

"Sir?"

He turned back; she was holding the drink out for him. "Thanks." He took a sip. It was well balanced, the thick passionfruit syrup melding with the rum and fresh lemon juice. A lemon slice adorned the top. He set a few coins on the counter and made his way through the crowd at the bar to the spiral staircase in the corner.

The trellises on the rooftop created a sort of hedge maze around the roof, with small round tables tucked into little alcoves scattered throughout. It was clearly a romantically inclined spot; most of the tables Eizen passed contained couples enjoying dinner and drinks. He'd begun to wonder if he should head back downstairs and outside instead when he caught a glimpse of a familiar coat fanning out from behind one of the wrought iron chairs.

Aifread was seated at a table perched on the corner of the rooftop, facing a gap in the trellises that looked out over the ocean. He had a glass full of a dark reddish drink in one hand, but seemed to be almost entirely ignoring it. Unlike the rest of the rooftop's occupants, he was alone.

_No friendly Yseulti after all_. Eizen quashed the faint flutter of relief and headed over.

"You're missing out," he said, stopping behind Aifread's chair. "I suspect you're a better card player than the rest of them."

If Aifread was surprised at his appearance, he didn't show it. He chuckled, though he didn't turn around. "I don't need to bankrupt my crew, do I? Bit counterproductive."

"Am I interrupting anything?"

"Nothing of note." Aifread gestured out to the sea with his free hand, indicating the Van Eltia moored in the harbor. It wasn't far, but the only illumination at this hour came from the moon and the crystal lights placed at intervals along the town's walkways; all that could be seen of the ship was a silhouette against the sky. "Just keeping an eye on her."

"Is she liable to get up and sail away?" Eizen asked dryly.

This elicited another chuckle. Aifread set his drink down on the table and nodded to the chair across from him. "If you're going to hang around, you might as well sit."

The words had an edge to them, but Eizen couldn't quite puzzle out what sort. He claimed the chair, turning it to face the ocean as Aifread's did, and took another sip of his drink—more for something to do than anything else. The air was much cooler now that the sun had set, and the breeze stirring the leaves of the trellises helped lift the humidity.

Aifread was silent for so long that Eizen began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep. He glanced over out of the corner of his eye; Aifread was still gazing out over the ocean, his expression neutral and impossible to read. Outwardly, he seemed calm, but Eizen couldn't shake the sense that the man was like the sea on a windless day: serene on the surface, but with untold numbers of things swirling about in the depths.

"If you'd rather I—" he began.

"The far continent."

Startled, Eizen shifted to face him. Aifread hadn't moved, and for a moment, he almost thought he'd imagined the words. "What?"

"The far continent." Aifread picked up his glass, examined the liquid against the moonlight as it cast a burgundy shadow over his hand, then set it back down without drinking any. "That's where we're headed."

Eizen frowned. The far continent was rumored to have treasures beyond imagining, but no one who'd attempted a journey there had ever returned. The tales said it contained monsters, furious storms, and that the very land itself rose up against invaders. It was the sort of legendary land that would appeal to pirates, he supposed, but it wasn't so much a risky undertaking as a suicidal one.

"That's insane," he said.

Aifread shrugged. "Perhaps. But if we succeed...well, plunder beyond our wildest dreams is enough to tempt any pirate, don't you think?"

And Aifread was certainly no ordinary pirate. Eizen leaned back in his chair. "Why are you telling me this?"

Aifread hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. "They say the far continent has all sorts of strange artifacts—and strange magic. I can't say for certain whether anything there could break your curse...but if such a thing does exist, the far continent may well be where it could be found."

_A cure._ Eizen froze, his drink dangling forgotten in his hand. He'd often hoped to find something that could break the curse, but it had been years since he'd left the mountain, and he had no idea what form it would even take.

He could see Edna again. He could travel without worrying that whoever he was with would meet an untimely end. He could—

Eizen realized his drink was tilting toward the floor and righted it, sipping the last of the rum before setting it on the table. He took a deep breath. "I can't," he said, forcing the words out around the tightness in his throat. "Traveling to the far continent will be dangerous enough without me along. You shouldn't risk it."

"On the contrary," Aifread said. "Traveling to the far continent will be dangerous enough that I doubt your curse will make that much of a difference."

"I really don't think that's how it works."

"Ah, but you can't say for sure it _isn't_." Aifread winked. "Besides, you're talented. Your skills would no doubt be helpful."

"I'm _dangerous_ , dammit—"

"Aren't we all," Aifread said dryly, and there was enough weary weight behind the words to give Eizen pause.

A cure for the curse.

If the far continent held such a thing— _if_ —it'd be worth it. As long as nothing too awful happened along the way, as long as they could hold the curse at bay long enough—but it was a long shot. He knew that. It was selfish. He knew that too.

But...

It might be his only chance. And he couldn't deny that the prospect of remaining with the Van Eltia was appealing.

Eizen closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking in the tropical air and the scent of the flowers on the trellises. Yseult was nice. He could probably keep a relatively low profile here, try to stay out of trouble. Give up on breaking the curse, give up on ever being anything but the Reaper. Give up on knowing Aifread, and understanding what he was after. The thought made him feel vaguely hollow.

It would be safer. Easier.

But Eizen had never been one to give up.

"All right," he said, more roughly than he'd intended. "You talked me into it."

Aifread brightened instantly, a grin spreading over his face. He grasped Eizen's hand and shook it once before letting go. "Glad to hear. You won't regret this."

"But you might," Eizen grumbled. He'd been too taken aback by Aifread's sudden movement to respond, and now he wished he'd been quicker on the uptake. "Look, before I come on board—there's something else you should know."

"Another secret beyond the curse?" Aifread raised an eyebrow.

Eizen measured his words carefully, trying to sift through the possibilities to find the right ones. "I...I'm not human."

Aifread's second eyebrow joined his first, but he waited for Eizen to go on, tilting his head in silent inquiry.

"I'm a malak."

Aifread's brows snapped together in a frown. "You're what?"

"A malak." Eizen realized he'd been holding his breath and forced himself to take one. He'd never told a human what he was before. He'd never had occasion to.

"But..." Aifread paused, seemingly piecing together a response in his head. "You can't be. You're not...I've _seen_ malaks before, with the Abbey forces—"

"Those aren't malaks," Eizen said, more harshly than he'd meant to. "They're husks. The Abbey takes their personalities, their wills, their souls, and drains them empty. Shatters everything that made them individuals and forms them into Abbey tools, hearts and minds both. They're shells of what they were, existing only to follow orders."

He heard, rather than saw, Aifread's sharp intake of breath, a muted hiss of shock. Aifread's hand tensed on the table, the tendons suddenly standing out in relief as he seemed to unconsciously move toward clenching a fist.

"I'm sorry," Aifread said quietly. "I didn't know."

"Most don't."

"That's horrifying." Aifread's jaw clenched. "Though I suppose I wouldn't have expected better of the Abbey. They care nothing for the free will of others, whether human or malak. They just want everyone to fall in line with their 'reason.'" He spat the last word out as though it were poison.

Eizen regarded him for a moment, wondering if he should ask. "Is...that why you hate them so much?"

Aifread turned his gaze out over the water to the Van Eltia; silhouetted in profile, it was difficult to read his expression. There was a tautness about him that hadn't been there before, as though he were a bowstring that would snap at any second.

"I hate them," Aifread said, "because they trample everything in their path with no regard for anything but their own way of thinking. I hate them because they fail to understand that logic and reason are meaningless without emotion, and because they want their subjects to suppress their hearts until there's nothing left." He looked back at Eizen, his eyes burning with a feeling Eizen couldn't quite parse—part fury, part vengeance, part pain. "Our hearts are what make us who we are. Without that...there's no point in living at all."

No wonder the crew of the Van Eltia followed him so faithfully. Eizen had seen flashes of it before—the battle with the Abbey, his certainty about heading to the far continent—but it had never been directed at him in full force before. Aifread had a storm in him, a passion that drew people in even as it threatened to dash them on the rocks. Meeting Aifread's eyes, facing it directly, Eizen found it difficult to breathe.

"You're right," he said, once he was able to form a coherent sentence. "The Abbey doesn't care about any of that. And malaks are easy prey for their reformations. Humans couldn't see us until a few years ago, but once they could—well, the Abbey wants power however they can get it. They use their rituals to ensnare us, and when we're caught..."

"They...break you," Aifread said.

Eizen nodded. "We need to be bonded to vessels, otherwise negative spiritual power overwhelms us. Malevolence, it's called."

"And if it does?"

"Ever seen a dragon?"

Aifread shook his head. "Not in person, no. They're powerful creatures. Best avoided."

"A dragon is a malak that's been overwhelmed by malevolence. Our vessels shield us, protect us from getting taken over. Once a malak becomes a dragon, there's no going back."

"I see." Aifread paused, finally taking a sip of his long-neglected drink. "So, you have a vessel? If it's not too private a question," he added.

Eizen fished the ceramic dog figurine out of his pocket. "A vessel can be a person, or an object...or even a place. It has to be something with some emotional resonance, though. Something that's meaningful to the malak in question."

Aifread nodded once, slowly.

"My sister gave this to me," Eizen added, almost before realizing it. He hadn't intended to explain, but the words had escaped before he could think.

"Malaks have siblings?"

"Not usually. Not...blood siblings, like a human would have. We were born in the same place. Other malaks were born there too, but when I saw her—" Eizen shrugged, not sure if he could phrase it in a way Aifread could understand. "I suppose I just knew she was my sister."

"I see," Aifread said again. For a moment, he fell silent, gazing out over the water. When he spoke again, his tone was thoughtful. "Thank you for telling me."

"Figured you should know about the other potential risk, if I join up." Eizen kept his voice lighthearted, with an effort. The prospect of turning into a dragon was never something he liked to dwell on much.

"Human or malak, you're still welcome on my ship," Aifread said, smiling over at him.

Eizen glanced away, suddenly self-conscious with Aifread's attention focused on him again. "Well. Thanks."

"Any enemy of the Abbey is a friend of mine." Aifread drained the last of his drink and stood. "Better tell the others the good news, don't you think?"

"Right." Eizen stood up, lingering behind Aifread just enough to realize that the man was moving with much more of a spring in his step than he had upon their arrival to Yseult.

They had just reached the stairs when the mangled notes of a song that Eizen could only assume was intended to be _Credeasi Misera_ warbled up from below.

"Ah," Aifread said. "I see Aolas lost at cards again."

*

            The Van Eltia left the port town the next afternoon, with most of the crew still slightly hungover—even Eizen wasn't entirely immune. Whatever Aifread had been drinking seemed to have left not a trace of impact, and he was as enthusiastic in directing their departure as he ever was.

            The first few days of travel were uneventful, and Eizen fell easily into his crew duties; they weren't much different than the tasks he'd been helping with already. The journey was proceeding smoothly enough that the curse had started to recede to a background presence in his mind. Not entirely gone—it was never entirely gone—but he was focused enough on his formal induction into the crew that it was a shock, on the morning of the fourth day, when he fell from the rigging.

            Later, he would piece together that the rope was slippery from the surf and he hadn't accounted for it, and his balance failed him at the crucial moment. At the moment he hit the deck, though, he was only aware of a brief sensation of panic as he fell, followed by a dull pain in his ribs.

            "Stand back!" he dimly heard Aifread shouting, through the ringing in his ears. "Give him some air."

            The crew clustered around him parted, and he felt Aifread briskly patting him down.

            "No broken bones," Aifread said. "Can you breathe?"

            Eizen nodded. "I'm...all right," he said, once he could get enough air to talk. "Just got the wind knocked out of me." He raised a hand to his side, wincing. "Sure none of these are broken?"

            Aifread pressed his fingers along Eizen's ribs, gently but firmly. Satisfied, he leaned back, and Eizen had to suppress a sudden flash of disappointment as he took his hand away.

            "I'm sure," Aifread said. "Just bruised. You'll be sore for awhile, though; you should get some ointment on those bruises. Come on."

            He held out a hand. Eizen took it, pulling himself up to stand. Reflexively, he reached his other hand into his pocket, fumbling for his figurine—and stopped dead as his fingers closed only on shattered ceramic shards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credeasi Misera isn't a sea shanty, but it is a real, notoriously difficult opera song.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9w_TTK7UP1c


End file.
